


U is for Undercover

by whumpertrooper



Series: A to Z Charlie whump [15]
Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: A to Z whump challenge, Comfort, Fights, Friendship, Gen, Mother Henning, Undercover, Whump, h/c, lots of trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 118,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23732002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumpertrooper/pseuds/whumpertrooper
Summary: Charlie gets an offer he can't refuse. How far will it take him? Another one for the A to Z Charlie whump challenge.
Series: A to Z Charlie whump [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1307558
Comments: 148
Kudos: 20





	1. The Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> This one will be long, so buckle up. My longest written fic to date. It might feel a bit different than usual but no worries, Blake and the rest will pop up soon. Fic is finished, updates will be daily. Not betaed so please excuse the mistakes. The town Leighton in this fic is purely fictional. I want to thank all the awesome people over on discord who helped with the brainstorming, ran sprints with me and answered all my insane questions about Australia. This wouldn't exist without you guys 3
> 
> I hope you will enjoy:)

It was all Blake's fault, Charlie thought.

How else to explain his current boredom in the middle of the course about forensics? The professor was talking about identifying dirt or soil found at the murder scene and all Charlie could think of was Blake walking up and down Ballarat, looking and sampling every bit of dirt and rocks he could find.

When the professor spoke about gloves and sealed plastic bags for evidence, Charlie bit down a snort. Blake put things into his pockets, into a handkerchief, a tobacco box. Whatever was at hand.

The man sitting next to him shot him a frown and Charlie cleared his throat and pretended to focus. This was what he wanted after all. To become a detective. Finally, he was able to take the detective training and hopefully learn things that would really help.

It wasn't anyone's fault that after three years of following Lucien Blake, all the methods mentioned in these courses seemed... boring. Some even inefficient.

Charlie went through the lesson, writing down small details he was sure would come up in a test, all the time wondering just when did he change so much. He used to be all by the book, ever since the academy. The methods Blake used worked, but... he realized that a better lawyer could dismiss some of them at court. So far they had been lucky.

Charlie didn't want to reach a moment when a procedural mistake or the simple fact Blake didn't put the evidence in the proper bag would allow the criminal to go. So even though he had already read up on the subject matter, he made himself focus.

The hour still seemed to drag on and Charlie was becoming restless. He didn't think the detective training would involve so much sitting in a class. The physical part of the training didn't seem to be pushed as much, most likely because detectives weren't expected to come into contact with dangerous situation as often as cops walking the beat. Charlie did enjoy the shooting range and the gym, but he was looking forward to the end of the lesson so he could head out for a proper run.

Finally it was over. Charlie gets off the chair, putting all the notes into his bag and headed out the door. Only to pause at the exit as a man stepped into his way.

"Excuse me," Charlie said and attempted to sidestep him, his mind already on the run and what track he should take. Maybe he could run around the bay? The summer had just ended and Charlie loved the autumn weather in Sydney.

The man didn't budge.

"Sergeant Davis?" he asked and Charlie stopped, his thoughts coming to a halt. There was a twitch of apprehension in his stomach, a feeling that his foreseeable plans might have to change.

"Yes, that's me," he said carefully. He looked around. The class was now mostly empty, a few other cops standing around, trying to leave the room as well. Charlie sidestepped and the man did the same, letting the others pass without a word.

"Can I have a word with you?" the man asked once the room cleared. Charlie looked him up and down, noting the suit and overall appearance. The man was maybe in his early forties. He had a straight posture, one that screamed 'army' at Charlie, although the haircut didn't fit with that. Though he was sure the man had served at some point of his life, now he looked more like someone sitting behind the desk and giving orders. The man's eyes were calculating and while he didn't appear outright threatening, Charlie got the vibe the man was trouble.

"I was headed out for a meeting," Charlie fibbed, hoping to get out of whatever this guy wanted from him.

The man gave a smile that reminded Charlie of Munro just a bit too much. It was the smile of a shark, ready to pounce.

"I am sure your running shoes can wait a few minutes, Sergeant Davis," he spoke and Charlie blinked. How the hell did he know about his plans?

"Now, it's hardly a secret. Taking a run is your routine ever since you arrived," the man explained and Charlie frowned, straightening his posture.

"Have you been following me? Who the hell are you?" He didn't like the thought of some stranger knowing his routine, especially not when he was away from familiar territory.

"Ah, pardon my impertinence. I'm detective Peter O'Leary, from the Commonwealth Investigation Services."

Charlie blinked again, thinking back if he had any cases involving the CIS but coming up empty.

"You mean Commonwealth Police?"

O'Leary grimaced but nodded.

"Yes. I still have to get used to us merging." The man shook his head, dismissing the topic. "Doesn't matter. Now that we have been introduced... there is something I need to ask. And perhaps I'll have an offer for you."

Charlie couldn't imagine what the detective could have wanted from him, but he had a feeling it wasn't something he would be able to decline so easily. Forcing back a sigh, Charlie simply nodded.

"Splendid. Why don't we take a walk then?"

Charlie managed to keep his mouth shut all the way out of the building. They were heading to the nearby park and despite his misgivings, Charlie relaxed a bit. He was out in the open, there were people walking around. The sun was shining and the fresh air was brushing away the fogginess of his mind caused by hours of lectures.

"What do you need from me, detective O'Leary?" Charlie asked and tried not to sound too apprehensive. He had a myriad of questions on his mind. First, how did the man know him? And what on earth could he want with him? Charlie really hoped this wasn't another attempt of someone from the headquarters to get Lucien Blake out of the way. Charlie was getting just a bit tired of that.

"Don't worry, Sergeant. It's nothing you won't be able to do. In fact, me and my supervisor think it should be right up your alley."

Charlie glanced at the man, trying to figure out if he was making fun of him. But the man looked serious enough.

"Can you be a little more clear?" Charlie was starting to lose patience. He had better things to do surely than chatting with this stranger... a man who seemed to know more about him than he was comfortable with. "And were you following me these last few days? How do you know I use to go for runs?"

Detective O'Leary raised a hand in a signal of peace.

"Relax, Sergeant. I didn't mean to worry you. I wasn't stalking you. It's a simple matter of asking around. There are plenty of cops around if you haven't noticed," he said in an amused tone.

Charlie felt a rush of embarrassment, but hoped it didn't show on his face.

"But perhaps we should indeed get to the point of my visit."

Charlie nodded.

"How do you feel about a little bit of undercover work, Sergeant Davis?"

Charlie paused, his ire rising almost on instinct. He was right after all.

"Listen, I know the higher-ups aren't a fan, but I really don't plan on spying on Blake. I think the last time showed that it's futile and stupid and-"

O'Leary chuckled and Charlie stopped mid-sentence.

"What the hell is so funny about that?"

"Ah, I'm sorry. I should have made myself clearer. This undercover work wouldn't involve anyone in Ballarat. We have absolutely no interest in Dr. Blake. Or rather... if there is any interest to be had, it's not from our agency."

Charlie was taken aback.

"What then do you mean by undercover?"

"There is an issue in a small town up north. I won't go into details unless I am sure you are taking the case."

Despite his misgivings, Charlie felt his interest peak.

"What kind of case it is?"

O'Leary seemed to note his interest if the twitch of his lips was anything to go by and Charlie reminded himself to be a bit more careful.

"Several corrupt cops running an illegal underground fighting ring."

Charlie's eyes widened.

"Fighting ring?"

"Yes. While having a bit of a side job is more or less accepted in such a town... the problem is some of the people fighting started going missing. We are suspecting that there could be more going on. Human trafficking, drug dealing. Extortion."

"That sounds like you have more than just a small problem. What could I possibly help you with?"

"Well for starters... you have some experience with boxing."

Charlie blinked, because that was the last thing he expected.

"I think you are mistaken. I don't box. If anything, I'm a runner."

O'Leary shrugged.

"Your father was a boxer. Your brother is heading for the championship as well. Don't tell me none of that rubbed off on you."

Charlie gritted his teeth. Being reminded of his father and brother's proves wasn't exactly making him feel warm and fuzzy towards O'Leary. Not to mention... he hasn't stepped inside a ring since he left Melbourne.

"I don't box, detective," he said simply.

O'Leary frowned.

"You may not be boxing now... but you do have experience with the sport. Your files from the academy show you were shortly in the boxing team and you aren't doing that shoddy at the physical fitness test here either."

Charlie didn't like that O'Leary seemed to know so much about him... that someone was keeping such a close eye.

"I still don't see how I can help you. There must be many more cops out there who are more suitable for the ring. Who are more experienced with undercover work than I."

"Au contraire, Sergeant Davis. You came highly recommended after the Munro case. Getting dirt on your own Chief Superintendent, one that was your father's partner at that... that takes some guts." O'Leary smirked, patting Charlie on the shoulder.

Charlie had to bite down a growl, both at the comment and the physical contact. He still felt bitter about Munro and he really didn't need to be reminded the man had some connection with his own father. Not to mention, if the circumstances were different and Munro didn't pick Blake as his target... Charlie might have even looked up to the man.

"That was... different. And it hardly makes me an expert on an undercover work."

O'Leary shrugged.

"We don't need an expert. We need someone who can handle themselves in a fight if needed and who is willing to rat on fellow cops."

Charlie felt his temper flare at the last comment and O'Leary knew that, because he smirked again.

"I didn't rat on anyone. If all you need is a rat, maybe you should go looking somewhere else. Now excuse me... I have places to be."

Charlie turned, ready to walk away. Screw this offer. He had enough doubts and suspicion in Ballarat while Munro was there. He really didn't need to hear some office jerk calling him a rat.

"Now now, Sergeant Davis. There's no need to take this so personally," O'Leary spoke, his voice dripping honey as he reached for Charlie's arm to stop his departure. Charlie's hand turned into a fist.

"Let go of me," he hissed and O'Leary let go.

"See? I'm pretty sure you can handle yourself, Sergeant. Or are you too scared of working without Blake by your side?"

Charlie turned on his heel to face the man.

"Do you really think this is the best way to persuade someone? Provoke them?"

O'Leary stood still, only raising an eyebrow.

"You are still talking to me, so I suppose so."

Charlie snorted and once again turned to leave. O'Leary fell in step with him though.

"Truth is, Sergeant Davis... we already had a person in mind. We created an identity for him and all... he was supposed to leave yesterday. Unfortunately he got into an accident and is no longer available."

"I'm sure you can find someone else," Charlie bit back, irritated by his shadow.

"Of course. But I doubt it will be in time for the next big fight. Not to mention... you look surprisingly similar to our original candidate, so there would be minimum change required in the documents."

Charlie let out a sigh and stopped, turning to face O'Leary.

"So what, now I am your last choice? There's a building full of cops."

O'Leary's face turned hard.

"Your name turned up on the list of recommended recruits. I would have thought you would grasp at a chance to promote your career, _Sergeant_ Davis."

Charlie frowned. For some reason, what should have sounded as a carrot dangling in front of a horse felt more like a gun pushed against his skull.

"I came here to become a detective," Charlie said, trying to control his emotions. "Not an undercover spy."

O'Leary inclined his head, giving Charlie a studious look.

"One doesn't exclude the other, Sergeant."

Charlie gritted his teeth.

"However, my assumption was you would welcome a recommendation in your file and all the experience this case could offer you. If you are looking forward to a position outside of Ballarat in your future, of course."

Charlie's eyes narrowed.

"Is this a threat?"

O'Leary put on a surprised look, though it didn't reach his eyes. Those stayed cold and emotionless.

"I would never dare to threaten you, Sergeant. I would think of this as more of... an investment in your future."

Charlie didn't say anything, but his left hand twitched, fingers curling and uncurling.

O'Leary shrugged and pulled a small folder from his bag, handing it to Charlie.

"There are some more details of the case. So you know what is at stake... and how many people you could help. If you decide so, of course. My number is inside the folder. I will expect your call by tomorrow morning... or I will have to offer this chance to someone else."

Unwittingly, Charlie took the folder.

"Oh, and Sergeant Davis? This whole conversation is classified. Understood?"

Charlie gritted his teeth but gave a short nod.

"Good," O'Leary said with the smile back on his face. He gave Charlie's arm a 'friendly' pat and without any other prompting headed towards the parking lot. Charlie just stood there with the file in his hands, watching until the detective vanished from his sight.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

The folder in his hands was light, only few papers at most, but to Charlie it felt heavier than a rock.

He didn't like O'Leary and he didn't have a good feeling about this. But... he couldn't outright refuse the job either. He didn't _want_ to, and that was the worst. So many things had happened during the last few years yet right now Charlie felt stuck in Ballarat. And it wasn't like he didn't love the town and the people there. He just... imagined himself somewhere else when he hit thirty. Simple as that.

With a sigh, Charlie put the folder into his bag with the other files and notes he had. A gust of wind hit his face and Charlie took in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the sea. He had until tomorrow to decide. There had to be better places to do that than standing in the middle of a path in a park.

Slowly, Charlie headed towards the building where he lived during the training. He was lucky at least that he didn't have any roommate to share the small space with. One room with a kitchenette and bathroom was more than enough for his needs. He grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and a stale sandwich and settled down on the ratty couch. Pulling out the file, Charlie leaned forward and glared at the paper. All the names and places were crossed over so he wouldn't know where he was heading until he agreed to take the task. Not that Charlie could do much investigation about it.

His instinct was to pick up the phone and call Lawson. He wanted to know who was this O'Leary guy. He wanted to know that if he went there, someone would have his back.

But Lawson was out of the picture along with Blake and even though Charlie knew Rose would be able to dig up dirt on just about anyone, he also knew it would instantly get back to O'Leary and his career would be over before it even started.

Because the recommendation Charlie got for the Munro case could just as easily be turned against him. It all depended only on how the story was spun, and what opened his door to the detective training could just as easily become the end of his career.

Charlie took a bite of the sandwich then washed it down with a sip of beer. It had nothing on Jean's cooking that was for sure. Charlie sighed and tried to focus on whatever information was available in the paper.

The case didn't look good. If all he saw there was true, then the for now unknown town was in quite a pickle. The file listed at least three corrupt cops who were holding the reins and seemingly driving it all underground. So far three people went missing... three that O'Leary and his contacts knew of. If the cops indeed picked up travelers passing the town or homeless folks, there was no telling how many had vanished. Or what even happened to them.

Only one person was found dead and the body was in such a state of decay that making a positive identification seemed impossible. Charlie wasn't even sure if they could be linked to the case. That didn't matter though. Those cops needed to be stopped.

The problem was... none of the evidence was clear. Some went missing, witnesses retreating their statements. O'Leary's contact seemed to have better information, but still, nothing that would hold up in the eye of the court. They really did need help. Someone who had no connections to the town. Someone who would see things through.

Despite his misgivings about O'Leary, the case intrigued him. Charlie had a born dislike against corrupt cops and just reading about some of the things going on there gave him the creeps. He wanted to put a stop to it. He wanted to help... and he wanted to prove to himself he could. Because back in Ballarat... things were complicated. If there was a proper case, and Charlie didn't think a stolen bike was one, then in swooped Lucien Blake and solved it. Or got them all into more trouble, but that was besides the point. The point was... Charlie hasn't solved a single murder case without Blake's involvement. Not a single one.

And while back at home Charlie had gotten quite used to it, he realized how different the outside world was. He was only just figuring out what he was capable of. Was he even fit to become a detective? Or was it all just an illusion brought on by Blake's support?

He didn't mind in Ballarat. He got so used to it that when the Doc didn't appear at the scene right away Charlie started looking around and wondering if there was maybe something even worse hiding behind the corner that caught Blake's interest.

In Ballarat, there was always someone to give advice, to fall back on if things were going wrong. But what would happen once Charlie went out into the world? He knew he had become complacent. He knew ever since Ned was killed in the middle of the police station and Charlie's skull was bashed in at the morgue.

He felt safe in Ballarat and he stopped guarding his own back because there usually was someone else he could count on.

But what would happen when Blake and Lawson retires? Or when Charlie got offered a different posting. Would he be able to handle himself?

That was the question that plagued his mind for the last few months; that was what truly pushed him to come to Sydney and start his training. He had to know if this was the right path.

He wasn't totally truthful with O'Leary either, and Charlie felt a bit relieved that the man didn't call him out on it.

After the unfortunate events last Christmas, Charlie had approached Hobart with a request.

When Charlie told O'Leary he hasn't boxed for years, he was telling the truth. In a way. What he was doing the last few months with Bill twice a week was something else.

They had met up at the gym, the owner of which was good friends with Hobart. Charlie didn't really enquire about that friendship, because he didn't want to know about anything illegal at the moment. If Bill was happy spending his money betting on boxing matches, so be it.

What Charlie cared about was learning some dirty fighting that would surely make his father roll in his grave. Anything from dirty kicks to illegal chokeholds and biting. As long as it would help in a deadly situation, Charlie was ready to learn.

He was done being a victim and he didn't want to end up like Ned. Charlie knew that logically, none of the moves he learned would save him from being knocked on the back of his head, but they at least provided a feeling of security. And it was good exercise.

The only downfall was that they had to pull they punches more often than not, or risk being confronted by Blake. Charlie could hardly come home twice a week beaten and bruised or with broken knuckles without the man noticing after all.

But even that had become easier after time and Charlie was now quite confident he could handle himself in a fight. Was it enough to step into a fighting ring though?

Charlie finished off his beer and stared at the file with the crossed-out names. He thought about his dislike of O'Leary. About the man's silent threat to his career.

He also thought about finally having a chance to prove himself. To help people without Blake as a crutch.

"Damn this all," Charlie sighed and closed the folder. He needed a run to clear his head. Maybe then he would know how to tell his mother he won't be available on the phone for the foreseeable future.

Maybe some fresh air would help him figure out whether he was making a huge mistake or a step in the right direction.

* * *

Charlie hated the smug look on O'Leary's face when they met up the next morning but it wasn't enough for him to reject the case. On the contrary. Something about O'Leary made Charlie all the more eager to take the case and show the man he was capable.

After a long run, Charlie had spent most of the night deliberating, although he had already made up his mind when he first read the folder. What he spent the night contemplating on was the little details. For example, whether he should call Lawson and at least drop a hint or two about being unavailable in the close future. He was already thinking about where he would be sent, who he was going to be posing as. His stomach was twisting with the nerves but also anticipation of a case of his own.

When he picked up the phone that morning, his voice was understandably a bit rough from only a few hours of sleep. Now he was nursing a cup of hot coffee in a small restaurant not far from the academy. O'Leary was sitting opposite of him, giving him a regarding look.

"I see you already started on the look," he said with a smirk, pointing at Charlie's hair.

Charlie frowned, running a hand over it, only now realizing in all the excitement and anticipation he had foregone his usual hair routine and barely used the comb, not to mention any of the products keeping his curls down.

"That's good. May I advise also foregoing the shaving for a few days? A bit of stubble and ragged look might wash off the image of a clean-cut cop you have going."

Charlie felt his face turn hot at the comment.

"If you have a problem with my face, maybe you should try someone else? Would that bum over there be more to your liking perhaps?" he nodded towards the window and the homeless-looking guy walking down the street, trying not to be obvious about looking for cigarette butts.

O'Leary rolled his eyes.

"Not exactly _that_ kind of ragged. But if you take this, you _will_ have to get your hands dirty at some point, Davis. And the looks to sell the part."

Despite wanting to protest, Charlie nodded. He was quite aware of that and he was confident he could get himself looking haggard quite easily. Something told him getting back the image of a squeaky clean cop might be a bit more difficult afterwards, but he pushed that thought deep inside. There was no place for second-guessing his choice right now.

"I told you I would take the case. Now... I need to know all the things you've crossed out," he said, putting the heavily edited case file towards O'Leary.

The man gave him another look which Charlie held without blinking until O'Leary finally nodded.

"Alright then. Here are your papers and your new identity. I will ask you to leave any identification and such here in Sydney, for your own safety." O'Leary pushed a heavy envelope towards Charlie and he took it with a frown. The idea of leaving his papers behind didn't sit well with him, even though he understood the reasoning. If he was to be successful, there would more likely be a point when he or his accommodations would be searched. He peered into the envelope and saw another case file, a bit of cash and the false identification. He pulled it out just enough to see his own face glaring back at him. The photo was taken at the academy at the start of their training when they got a temporary entrance badge. At least he was in his civilian clothes and after several hours long travel, so he didn't look as fresh and cop like as usual. Though he did wonder just when did O'Leary manage to set this all up in such a short time.

"You were fast," he muttered and O'Leary shrugged.

"I knew you would see the wisdom of taking this opportunity."

Charlie wanted to snort. He had a feeling O'Leary already had at least two more candidates for the job in case he fell through. And if not, well... that left some space for thought.

"There's enough cash in there for you to buy a ticket to Leighton and book the cheapest motel for the next week. There's also a card in the envelope with a phone number of your contact. Once you get settled there, arrange a meeting and he will explain the details."

"Why can't you do it?" Charlie asked out of curiosity.

"I'm not privy to everything, neither do I care. Your contact is a trustworthy cop who knows the situation. He will be of bigger help."

Charlie gritted his teeth, not exactly happy about going into the situation blindly.

"What if something goes wrong? What is the chain of command here?"

"Your contact is the first in line. Then me. If you can't get in touch with either of us, you can call Deputy Commissioner Andrews who requested you for the case. No one else. No calling for help to Ballarat, understood, Davis?"

Charlie wanted to take offense at the mere suggestion, but instead, he just gave a nod.

"Good. I will be contacting Superintendent Lawson and let him know you will be unavailable for training reasons. That shall be enough for now."

A waitress stopped by asking if they would like to order something else. They both shook their heads and O'Leary paid for his coffee. Once the waitress was gone, he looked at his watch.

"I'll need to go now. Head out as soon as possible, Davis. They will start looking for new fighters within the next few days."

"I'll head out tonight," Charlie said a bit sourly. He still needed to wrap up some things, pack up and buy a ticket. He also wanted to give a quick read through the file once more, this time with the names and details visible. Anything more would have to wait until the meeting with his contact. Hopefully, the man was friendlier than O'Leary.

"Good luck, Davis," O'Leary said as he got up from the table. "You will need it."

"Thanks," Charlie grumbled, watching the man leaving, obviously satisfied with himself. Charlie followed him with his gaze until O'Leary was out the door, then turned towards his coffee. Two long sips later, Charlie left a tip on the table, grabbed the envelope with all the documents and left. His work had just started.


	2. The Pub

The motel Charlie picked was indeed a sleazy one, not that he could afford much more with the cash he was given by O'Leary, not if he wanted it to last more than a few days. Charlie suspected that was O'Leary's plan all along and he resigned himself to a possible bed bug infestation.

As long as he could pull this case through and come out alive and successful in the end, Charlie supposed some bug bites were worth it. Of course he was quite aware that if he managed to capture the dirty cops' attention, he would have to deal with much worse.

Right now though he just wished he could burn the bed and the room he was currently residing in. He had arrived to the town of Leighton three days ago, early morning. The eleven hour ride in the bus wasn't the most comfortable one, but he didn't complain. One look into the mirror told him the circles under his eyes would work in his favour. O'Leary told him to look haggard after all.

When Charlie arrived to Leighton, his first steps led to the motel in the poorer looking part of the town. After he hassled a bit about the price of the room and booked it for a week, his next steps led to a payphone. The card with his contact's number felt like burning a hole in his pocket his whole way there. For some reason he had the nagging worry that he would lose the number or that the person on the other side simply wouldn't pick up.

Those worries though were unfounded as a male voice sounded before the third ring finished.

"Yes?" the man didn't introduce himself and Charlie wasn't planning on blurting out his name either. Not the real one at least.

"Uh... I've got your number from a friend. He told me you were expecting a call..."

"Are you in town?"

"Yes... I just arrived."

"Good. Have you already found an accommodation?"

The voice didn't seem to be one for niceties, but Charlie was alright with that. It was obvious the man didn't want to waste time with chatting over the phone. Though Charlie was a bit leery about giving his current address. On the other hand... this was supposed to be his contact. If he couldn't trust the man, there was hardly anything he could do there. O'Leary didn't provide him enough information to carry on by himself.

So Charlie told the stranger his address and room number.

"Good. Be there at noon. I'll stop by during lunch."

Not waiting for an answer the man hung up. Charlie looked at the phone with a frown then left the booth. Wondering what fresh hell did he get himself into.

He fought back the urge to call Blake or Lawson, just to hear a familiar voice. To have a chance to explain his possible future absence. But O'Leary's warning was still fresh in his mind and it would be foolish to jeopardize the operation before it even started. So Charlie looked at his watch and decided to use the next two hours to walk around the town and make himself at least a bit familiar with the streets.

When noon came he found himself sitting nervously in his room, checking his watch every other minute.

Two minutes before the clock turned to twelve there was a knock on his door.

Swallowing down his nervousness, Charlie walked towards the door. He squared his shoulders, took in a deep calming breath and opened the door.

He wasn't really expecting to see a clean shaven man with slick, light brown hair and a friendly smile... but that is what he got.

"Mind if I come in?" the man said, casting a look at the empty corridor.

Charlie blinked, then with a shake of his head opened the door further, allowing entrance.

"Not to be rude, but... who are you?" Charlie asked once the door was closed and he faced the stranger.

"Not at all. I'm senior sergeant Gary Johnson." The man reached out and Charlie shook his hand.

"I'm Charlie... Morris," he said, hesitating. He had no plans of sharing his actual name with anyone in this town until absolutely needed. At least the alias O'Leary picked for him was also a Charlie, so there was less of a chance for a slip up.

"You're not in your uniform," Charlie pointed out, feeling just a tad suspicious. After all, how was he to know this was really his contact?

Johnson laughed.

"No, I'm not. Actually this is my day off, which is fortunate. Otherwise we would've had to wait until tonight and that would just cost us precious time."

While that made sense, Charlie still needed some proof.

"How can I be sure you're the one I was supposed to meet?" he asked, aware that the phone could've been picked up by someone else.

Johnson inclined his head, then nodded.

"True. I suppose O'Leary wasn't too open about information. The man can be a right secretive ass if he wants to."

Charlie felt some of his apprehension leave. Especially seeing that Johnson also didn't seem very fond of the man.

"Yeah, that he is. Uh... do you want to sit down, sergeant Johnson?" Charlie asked, pointing towards the rickety looking chairs. Johnson cast a doubtful look at them, then at the sturdier looking bed.

"Trust me... you don't want to sit on that," Charlie muttered and Johnson chuckled, following him to the chairs.

"Right. You know, for someone who isn't familiar with this town, you did manage to pick up one of the worse motels there are. And please... call me Gary. I'd rather... we keep job titles out of this conversation."

Charlie nodded. That was fine with him. As long as he would finally get to know everything he needed to proceed with this case.

"So... can you fill me in? The files I read were rather lacking in details and O'Leary... well. He didn't offer up much info either."

Johnson nodded, pulling an envelope from his pocket and handing it to Charlie. Charlie took it, frowning a bit as he saw the only thing inside were several newspaper clippings and a copy of a photo. He quickly ran his eyes over the clippings, not finding anything interesting about the articles. Only thing standing out were the photos. One was of some kind of ceremony with several cops receiving an award, the other was of an opening of a new wing at the local hospital. One of the faces in the background was circled.

"Who are these people?"

"Those are the guys that plague this town." Johnson pointed to the photo taken at the hospital. "That is sergeant Richard Graves. His father is a rich businessman who owns this town's biggest factory, and who is also a gracious sponsor of the hospital."

Charlie grimaced. He knew from O'Leary that the cops he was sent to catch had power, but he didn't know they would have so much influence in the town. As Johnson continued talking, Charlie realised he might've gotten himself into a more dangerous situation than he predicted.

"This one is sergeant Kenneth Barnes. The photo is from when he received an award along with several of his colleagues for rushing into a burning building and rescuing several workers. It would be rather laudable, if not for the fact it was most likely him and his cronies who set fire to the building in the first place."

Charlie's eyes went wide at that.

"What? Why?"

Johnson shrugged.

"It was a new business that was a rival to the Graves factories. It is best to nip the competition in the bud before it manages to grow, at least that is the philosophy of the Graves family."

"Let me guess. This third one... is the son of the mayor?" Charlie said only half joking. The smile fell from his lips however when Johnson didn't even smile.

"Douglas Rigby. He's actually the mayor's son in law. Not that well liked in the family, but... still family."

Charlie blinked. Well... it was no wonder they couldn't get rid of those three. He just wondered what were his own chances at succeeding under these circumstances.

Johnson must've seen the rising doubt.

"I know. It looks more than one person could handle. Believe me... I know."

"I don't understand why they sent me," Charlie admitted. "Wouldn't someone from the inside be a better choice? What about you? You seem to know the situation pretty well."

Johnson shook his head, a grimace on his face.

"Actually, when I was sent here two years ago that was the plan. Me getting close to those three, become a part of their group and get some evidence that couldn't be disputed. But... they never let anyone from the station get close. They don't need a fourth in their midst. Not enough to get something on them anyway."

Charlie felt his stomach churn. How the hell was he supposed to achieve more than a cop who worked with them for two years now?

Johnson shook his head, as if reading his mind.

"It's different with you. They don't know you're a cop... can't know that. And it took us a few years but we finally have enough knowledge to figure out how they operate. All we need now is to catch them in the act."

"A fight ring... that might be illegal, but with the connections they have, it would be nothing more than a slap on the hand," Charlie protested.

"It will be more if there are weapons involved. We just... need to catch them during one of the... special fights."

Charlie frowned. He knew Johnson meant a death match. O'Leary had hinted at that and Charlie wasn't so naive as to think betting on a couple of guys in a fist fight would be enough to put the dirty cops behind the bars. Blood was spilled and there was a pretty big chance it will be spilled again.

"Look, if you have any doubts about this Charlie... you better return home. This is no game and I would hate to see you get hurt," Johnson said calmly. It was clear he was desperate for some help, but he also knew the risks.

He was giving Charlie an out.

Charlie appreciated it... but that was hardly an option now. He had made his choice back in Sydney and he felt like turning on it now would mean betraying himself. It would be like a scared dog slinking home with the tail between its legs, back to the safety and normalcy.

Charlie didn't want that. Or rather... he wanted something more. To prove himself and to his father that he chose the right career path. That he was capable of handling things even without Blake and his friends.

"It would be a waste of time to turn back now. I want to help. So tell me... how should I go about this?"

Johnson gave him a hard look, then seeing the determination in Charlie's eyes, nodded.

"There's a pub down on Parkland street..."

* * *

Three days.

Charlie had been frequenting the pub for the last three days, nursing his beer and playing pool, letting the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap booze permeate his skin and clothes. He haven't shaved for almost a week now and there were shadows under his eyes, supporting the role of a downtrodden traveller he was playing.

He didn't even have to work for the look. Sleeping in that blasted hotel was all but impossible. Charlie swore there were bed bugs crawling over him at night, though every time he turned on the light and looked he couldn't see a thing. But if it wasn't the feeling of creepy crawlies running over his skin, it was the sounds coming from the street or the neighbouring rooms that kept him up at night. Sounds of too loud beds, moans and curses. Fights and screaming that made him want to go out into the hall and lock up everyone who even beeped in the middle of the night. But he couldn't do that. He wasn't here as Charlie Davis after all. He wasn't a cop.

Just another low life, minding his own business.

Third night... sitting at the bar, drinking a beer. Watching... waiting. For someone familiar to appear.

Charlie had memorized the faces of all three cops before Johnson took the file with him.

'If you catch their eye, they _will_ search your room. Don't leave them any hint of doubt,' Johnson warned him.

Charlie nodded and took the advice to heart. He had already left all his documents or trinkets that could link him to Charlie Davis back in Sydney. Even the keys to Blake's house.

"Fancy playing a game?"

Charlie looked up from his beer. A guy a few years his junior but possibly a few beers heavier was standing next to him with a cue in his hand and a questioning look.

Charlie blinked.

"What?"

"We need a fourth for the game. You in?"

Charlie looked around, making sure his targets weren't there. It was Friday night but the pub was barely half full. It was still fuller than the previous two days. Charlie glanced at his watch and noted he still had three or four more hours to kill until he would give up and return back to the hotel.

"Why not," he muttered, grabbing his beer and following the man to the pool table. There were two more guys but they didn't look like much of a competition. One of them was already waving slightly and Charlie expected him to be asleep on the chair before they even finish the first game.

"So... whose turn it is?" he asked as he put the chalk on the tip of the cue.

Two games later, Charlie had one win and one loss on his count. They were about to start a third game, when Charlie noted a few newcomers entering the pub. He cast one look at the two men, then did a double take.

The lighting in the pub wasn't good, but he was pretty sure it was Kenneth Barnes and Douglas Rigby strutting towards the bar as if the pub belonged to them.

Charlie took a sip of his stale beer, hoping to calm his suddenly wildly beating heart. This was it. His chance to get their attention. Now all he needed was a fight... possibly one he could win.

Charlie looked at his three co players. One was already drunk enough to topple at the smallest touch. The other two guys were still pretty much sober, or at least holding their own, but Charlie saw the beer pouch adorning one and the slight frame of the other. They might pack a punch... but it shouldn't be anything he couldn't handle.

"Say guys... anyone would like to make this more interesting?" Charlie spoke up as Steve, the man who called him into the game was setting up the table.

"Watcha mean, mate?"

Charlie patted his pocket with his wallet and raised an eyebrow.

"How much?"

Charlie smiled. He pulled out a bill and put it on the table, out of sight of the two cops.

"You in?"

Steve smirked.

Charlie didn't think it would be so hard to start a fight. Truly... it took him three more games to get to the point where two of the guys had opted out in lieu of just watching, while Steve was frowning as Charlie drove the last ball into the hole. Charlie smirked and grabbed the wad of cash, scrunching it up in his pocket. Three games and he won all of them, not even trying to pretend any more that he was balls at the game.

He supposed having no real hobbies at the academy and spending his free nights playing pool with a couple of guys was time well spent. Or maybe Steve and the others had been just a tad more drunk than him.

Charlie didn't ponder it. He also didn't much care for the money. Steve wasn't a bad guy and while Charlie didn't really talk with the other two, he had a feeling they were just normal blokes trying to chill after a week of hard work.

He would have rather left them well alone, but... he wasn't there to chill and he couldn't afford to wait another week for his targets to return. As it was, Kenneth and Douglas were on their third beer already and starting with shots. Charlie was keeping an eye on them, expecting the third one to appear as well, but no luck with that. He shrugged. Johnson didn't say which one of them chose their fighters, but he knew that Douglas was the brains of the operation.

With that said though... Charlie needed to make his move. Before the men decided to leave.

With a sigh and a silent prayer, Charlie steeled for what was to come.

He knew that Steve was low on money. The man had bemoaned the fact for the last hour. Which was also the reason he was so willing to play against Charlie for money. Charlie had made sure his first few games looked more like good luck than skill, a few times even missing the ball whatsoever on purpose. So it was understandable Steve was more than a bit peeved when he won three times in a row without breaking a sweat.

He was even more peeved when Charlie grabbed the cash, downed the rest of his beer and nodded at him.

"Well, it was nice to play with you, mate. I'm afraid I need to be on my way now though."

Charlie nodded a farewell to the other two, who didn't appear to be paying much attention anymore.

"What?" Steve froze, the frown on his face deepening. "Are you bloody serious?"

Charlie wasn't, but the man didn't need to know that.

"Yeah. I've had enough of drink and company. Time to head home."

Steve shook his head.

"No way in hell. I want another game."

Charlie paused.

"Look, mate. I don't really feel like playing anymore."

"Too bad. I don't feel like letting you walk away with my money... _mate."_

Steve stepped closer to Charlie, the pool cue's end slamming loudly against the floor. One of his drunkard friends raised his head and looked at them, but Charlie didn't care. He caught movement in the side of his vision... Kenneth was looking his way, obviously attracted by the raised voice.

Charlie's normal instinct would be to try and settle the situation. Smile, raise his hands in an unthreatening manner and try to calm down the offender. Or use his police rank to get some respect.

He couldn't use any of it now. What was more, he had to actively work against this instinct and do the exact opposite. For the second he was actually glad for the two beers he managed to drink.

"I won that money fair and square," Charlie said and held himself straight, his face the same look of arrogance that his younger brother used on him for the last few years. Based on the tensing of Steve's jaw line and the low growl coming from him, it was a success.

"The hell you did! You could barely hit the ball on your first game!"

Charlie shrugged.

"I'm a fast learner." Another smirk and he turned to leave.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard and spinning him around.

"You're a cheater, that's what you are!" Steve spat at him, and Charlie didn't even try to convince him otherwise. He just shrugged, pulling his arm out of Steve's grip.

"So? What are you gonna do about it?"

The fist that landed on his right cheek was expected.

It hurt nevertheless.

Charlie grunted and went with the blow. He stepped back, one hand reaching up to his face, to check for blood. There was none, though he was sure his face would bruise.

Steve was glaring at him and his other two companions stood up. Charlie looked around the pub, making sure that Kenneth and Douglas were still around and he wasn't causing commotion for nothing. He saw that both men had turned around on their bar stools, watching the scene with smirks on their faces. Enjoying the show.

Charlie saw the bar keeper looked only mildly annoyed and none of the other customers seemed to be interested in partaking the possible fight or stopping it.

Just the scene he wanted.

With a nod and his own jaw clenching, Charlie looked Steve straight in the eyes.

"You punch like a girl," he said and smiled.

Steve let out an angry shout and his fist flew again. This time however, Charlie ducked then charged himself.

His fist caught Steve in the solar plexus and as the man gasped for breath, bending over, Charlie used one of Hobart's favourite moves. He grabbed Steve by the shoulders and pushed down, driving him right onto his raised knee. Charlie heard a nose cracking then Steve slid down to the floor, only half conscious.

Charlie felt bad, but there was nothing for it. Instead of kneeling down and checking on the man's condition, trying to render help, he stepped back and looked up. Just in time to see Steve's two friends charging at him. One was wielding an empty beer glass, the other only had his fists.

Charlie cursed as he caught another punch in the face, this one driving him to his knees. His vision swam for a moment, but he could still see two pair of boots approaching him. This was no time to rest. He raised his head just as he saw the beer bottle heading his way.

He reacted on instinct, throwing himself to the side, straight at the feet of the other attacker. Charlie didn't know where was up or down, but he felt a weight crash into him as the man stumbled and fell.

It got him a precious moment to get his bearing. Charlie saw movement, heard raised voices approaching, but he tuned it all out. Right now all he knew was he had to win this fight. At any cost. Because there was no way in hell he was going to repeat this whole charade again.

Charlie struggled back up to his feet, ignoring the pained grunt he heard as his elbow leaned into something soft and yielding on his way up.

His vision was still blurred and the bad lightning and cigarette smoke didn't help any. But he did see something long and pointy headed his way. Once again, he rolled to the side, only hearing wood hitting floor with a smack and a set of curses following.

He was starting to think that maybe he did overestimate his own strength, or rather he underestimated the rage and persistence of the three drunks. Gritting his teeth, Charlie once again tried to get back to his feet when luck seemed to turn his way. He reached up to use the pool table to pull himself up, when he felt the pool cue. His fingers curled around it and he yielded it almost as a sword when the third man from the party swished his own cue at him.

Starkly reminded of one of the lessons Hobart gave him about using whatever you could get your hands on, Charlie swished his cue. Wood hit wood, once... twice. On the third encounter, Charlie could feel the cue of his attacker give a bit. He saw the man's hands trembling.

Resolved to finish this fight, Charlie pushed forward, feeling the cue give and clatter to the floor. His opponent wasn't about to give up just yet though. He spat and cursed and punched.

The amount of alcohol consumed though gave Charlie all the advantage he needed. He sidestepped the punch and used the man's momentum to get behind his back. He dropped his own cue in lieu of getting the man into a proper chokehold. Then... he pulled his arm closer to his chest and waited.

It didn't take more than a minute. As soon as Charlie felt the man's weight growing heavy and his body going limp, he eased up his hold. No sense in letting the man break his own neck.

The fight was over.

Charlie took a deep breath and looked around.

All he could hear was his own rattling breath and the moaning coming from the three fallen men.

No one else moved.

Charlie felt stupidly exhilarated but at the same time horrified. He had just attacked three men. Caused multiple injuries.

All three were alive though, that much he saw. Steve was already coming to his senses, spitting blood and cursing. Charlie's left hand twitched, the right one curled into a fist.

What now? Was he supposed to run? Should he stick around?

He wasn't sure what was the smartest move. Were the cops even there or had they left? How come no one tried to intervene?

All these questions rushed through his mind. Before he could make head or heel of them though, two hands grabbed his shoulders, squeezing tight.

Charlie's eyes widened and he looked at his would be attackers.

Kenneth and Douglas.

His body tensed instinctively, still pruned for fight.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Kenneth warned him in a low voice.

"You can come with us on your own... or we will lead you out in handcuffs, mate," Douglas said, pointedly looking at the bar keep who was holding a cricket bat and glaring at Charlie.

Charlie swallowed, the fight going out of his body.

"Hey, this wasn't my fault," he protested feebly as he felt the hands squeeze tighter around his arms, leaving bruises.

"We can talk about it outside," Kenneth said with a snort.

Outside of course meant the back exit and an empty alley. Before Charlie could protest he was slammed face first against the wall of the building, his arms painfully twisted behind his back.

He let out a pained grunt, his whole body throbbing at the contact. One of the man was holding his wrists at such a position he couldn't have moved even if he wanted without risking dislocating his shoulders. The other started patting him down.

Charlie grimaced as he felt a hand sneak into his pockets. The wad of cash was of course gone, followed by his wallet and the motel key. He heard the rustle and turned his head as much as he could to see what was going on.

It had to be Kenneth restraining him, because Douglas was busy going through his wallet and studying his ID.

"Charles Morris, from South Wales, Georgia. A little bit far from home, aren't you?"

"Hey, that's mine!" Charlie protested and tried to turn around, even though he felt a painful twitch in his shoulders. Kenneth wasn't giving him an inch to move. On the contrary, he seemed to push a bit more.

Charlie yelped in pain and stilled.

He heard a snort, then a rustle. Someone's hand sneaked into his jacket pocket which had already been emptied... only to come out with something.

"Now now, what do we have here?" Douglas said and without warning, Kenneth had spun Charlie around, slamming his back against the wall.

Charlie blinked, grimacing as his hands fell down to his side and his shoulders gave a cry of relief. Kenneth's palm was resting on his chest, a quiet warning that if he made a wrong move he would be delivered a quick punch to the solar.

Douglas though was wearing a smirk on his face, his hand dangling a small pouch filled with white pills.

Charlie frowned in confusion, then his eyes went wide.

"That's not mine!" he protested.

Kenneth snorted.

"They are all saying that, Doug. Isn't that strange?"

Douglas sighed, as if this whole thing was rather exhausting.

"And they are _always_ lying," he said. "Care to explain these, Mr. Morris?"

"They aren't mine!" Charlie hissed through gritted teeth and moved forward, one hand showing away the hand on his chest. It was a foolish move. Charlie barely even made a step forward when the same hand slammed back onto his solar plexus, driving the air out of his lungs.

Charlie bent forward, coughing and spluttering, even as someone had been well meaningly tapping on his back.

"Now now, I warned you, didn't I?" Kenneth spoke only inches from his head. Charlie winced, unable to find the breath to reply. He spat on the floor instead, as much to get rid himself of the foul taste in his mouth as in reaction to the words .

Kenneth didn't seem to take it personally though. He chuckled, giving one more clap to Charlie's back, almost driving him to the ground. It was only Douglas grabbing his shoulder in a tight grip that kept Charlie on his feet at this point.

"I think Mr. Morris here has had enough for the night. Why don't you help him to the car, _sergeant_ Barnes? I'm sure a night in a cell will help stir his memory... and make him a bit more cooperative."

"With pleasure," Kenneth answered and as Charlie's chest finally stopped seizing and he got his first proper breath, he felt a pair of handcuffs lock around his wrists. Soon after he found himself being manhandled towards a police car. He blinked again, wondering just how useless or corrupted was the local police chief, if he let his people ride the police cars off duty while getting drunk.

He kept putting up a token of protests, going as far as to call Kenneth a dirty pig when he kicked the back of Charlie's knee to get him into the back of the car faster. All Charlie got for his trouble was a chuckle and a door slamming heavily, missing his foot only by a hair.

Once inside the car, Charlie felt the adrenaline and the fight leave his system. All of a sudden he realized just how claustrophobic the back of a police car could be. He had never driven in the back, not handcuffed and at the mercy of two dirty cops. Out of reach of people he could trust.

The weight of his decision to take this case just hit him full on. He made the first step... got himself noticed. But... he was also trapped and pretty much unable to protect himself. He couldn't hide behind the badge anymore.

His chest felt heavy, but it had nothing to do with the bruises. Kenneth and Douglas were giving him contemplating looks in the rear-view mirror and Charlie swallowed. He had to push back the doubt and fear that seemed to course through his body. This was all part of the plan. He was doing what Johnson told him... what O'Leary expected. He was on the right track.

A few bruises and a ride in the cop car should not make him a freak out.

Charlie's hands curled into fists and he got a look of determination on his face. When he saw Douglas eyeing him, he gave him a glare. The only response he got was a chuckle. The bastard was enjoying this.

"I didn't do anything," Charlie spoke gruffly, surprised at hearing his own hoarse voice. He blamed the cigarette smoke in the pub for that, not the tightness of his throat.

"At the very least, you caused a fight at the pub," Kenneth pointed out.

"I didn't throw the first punch."

Kenneth shrugged, the conversation obviously over.

"You can't lock me up," Charlie kept on. He wasn't sure what he expected, definitely not the car coming to a stop and the two men just letting him walk away with a pat on his shoulder. The night at the cell was quite a fair punishment. If it weren't for the bag of pills Douglas had planted in his pocket.

"We can and we will. You started a fight. You had a bag of unknown substance on you. And if you don't shut up this instance, I will add an attack on a police officer. With any luck, you might make it out of jail before you turn fifty."

"Any other comments, Mr. Morris _?_ " Douglas asked with a face that said Charlie should definitely think about it.

Charlie clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together.

"I want to talk to a lawyer," he muttered.

To which both Kenneth and Douglas shared a look, then chuckled.

"A little bit of advice, Chuckles," Douglas spoke, turning towards Charlie, who winced at the nickname. "It's Friday night. In this town, lawyers don't work during the weekend. So if I were you..." Douglas's face turned stony, "I'd shut up and make sure I would be alive come Monday."

Charlie looked into the dark cold eyes and couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine. It was like looking into the eyes of a hungry shark that was just presented with a juicy piece of meat. Douglas must've noticed the reaction, because his lips twitched in twisted amusement.

"Now... once again. Do you have any questions?"

Charlie knew if his mission was to succeed, he had to survive this ride at least.

He shook his head.

Douglas nodded, then settled back in his seat. Charlie looked down at his hands. The knuckles on his right hand were split and bleeding. The left one had a scrape across a palm he didn't remember getting. He didn't feel the pain though. All he felt was coldness. All he could see was the slight shaking of his handcuffed hands. He was just where he needed to be, Charlie thought to himself and repeated the same thought during the whole ride. He was where he needed to be. So why the hell did it feel so wrong?


	3. The Cell

Charlie never thought he would one day end up in a cell as a prisoner. But here he was. Middle of the Friday night, with his wrists bruised from handcuffs and whole body throbbing from the fight. At least he was alive and relatively unscathed, Charlie thought. Which was more than he expected during the ride from the pub. He truly feared his cover was blown and the two cops were driving him out of town to get rid of him. But once he saw the building in front of which they parked, he felt some relief.

After going through a quick booking process at the station he was unceremoniously thrown into an empty cell. Charlie called out after the retreating constable that put him there, asking for a lawyer, asking to be let out, but the man ignored him. Of course. Charlie would have probably done the same if he was booking someone from a pub brawl. Ignore until the morning, once the person had sobered up. Or called the Doc to check him out in case of visible injuries... though Charlie doubted split knuckles and few bruises would warrant any such visit in this town.

When some other drunk from the next cell shouted at him to shut up and let him sleep, Charlie fell silent. No reason to draw the ire of anyone who might be tasked with his wellbeing in the following days, especially seeing as Kenneth and Douglas had long ago left the premises.

Charlie sat down heavily on the cot, his fingers itching at the touch of the scratchy blanket. Charlie knew he shouldn't be expecting comfort in these cells. They were meant to be temporary holds, and a bit of discomfort was more than desired for their expected occupants. Still, his nose wrinkled at the crude toilet and sink. He was thirsty and he felt dirty from sweat and blood. Some of it was his own, most belonged to Steve or one of the other guys Charlie didn't even learn the names of.

With a sigh he got up and splashed some lukewarm water on his face, then let the water flow onto his split knuckles. It stung but Charlie had a feeling it was nothing to the pain still awaiting him. If there were more fights in his future... he would have to make sure he got through them as unscathed as possible. Somehow, he didn't see Kenneth or Douglas being the types who would care for someone's welfare unless it suited them.

Charlie stepped back towards the cot... it was hardly a walk because there was not enough room for more than a few steps. Charlie cringed at the memory of Blake being locked up in a cell... even though it was bigger than this one... the lock on the door still made his skin crawl. Being claustrophobic must've made the experience so much worse.

Charlie lay down, stretching out on the cot. He let out another sigh, allowing himself to relax momentarily. There was no sense in worrying about what comes next. He was pretty sure things were not going to work out exactly how he or Johnson had imagined them.

For now, he was safe and most likely on a good way to further their plans. His body was bruised and aching, but thinking about the fact he faced off three assailants, he came out relatively unharmed. Charlie made a mental note to thank Hobart for that, if he ever get the chance. The last few months of training at the gym had seemed to be paying off.

Thinking of Hobart and Ballarat, Charlie's thoughts had turned towards Lawson and Blake. He wondered whether the men knew something was up. O'Leary said he would let Lawson know at least that Charlie wasn't in Sydney and had been sent out on an assignment but the man didn't say when will he do so. Charlie wouldn't put it past him to simply forget until Lawson started calling, trying to get in touch with him. Well, at least Charlie had managed to call his mother and let her know he was leaving, although he kept the true reason and destination to himself, per orders. He did mention O'Leary by name however, so if there was prolonged absence on his part, he was sure his mother would know what to say to Lawson.

Right now, everything was going as it should. Charlie decided to ignore the headache that was looming at the back of his skull, the throbbing of his right cheek and the tightness of his chest that had nothing to do with the growing bruise. None of it mattered... as long as his cover held up. With that thought in mind, Charlie's eyes slid closed and he slipped into fitful sleep.

* * *

The morning came faster than he expected. Charlie was still lying on the uncomfortable cot, pretending sleep when around seven in the morning he heard the sound of footsteps. It was also accompanied by a complaining whiny voice and Charlie grimaced, keeping his eyes shut and pretending sleep. He hoped he won't get a companion in his cell. That would just make matters more complicated.

"Oi mate, I swear I didn't mean to!" the whiny voice sounded only few meters from him and Charlie suppressed a snort. Right. As if that worked on anyone.

"Tell you what, Petey. Next time you fall asleep after a binge in the middle of the street, try not to punch the first person that wants to check if you're still alive."

"Stupid paper boy," Petey grumbled. "Shoulda left me to sleep."

"Yeah yeah. He also should have left you lying on the road, you bloody idiot. You should be thanking the kid."

Petey gave another grumbled response, but Charlie wasn't paying him any attention. The voice that was leading the half drunk man into the cell was rather familiar.

Charlie's eyes snapped open and he sat up on the cot. He grimaced once again, this time feeling several aches and pains shooting up his spine. Last night's fight might've been a successful one, but it still took some toll.

"Next time maybe try getting actually home. I bet your wife won't appreciate having to bail you out... again," the cop said and there was the unmistakable sound of the lock falling closed. Charlie moved towards the door of his cell, not wanting to miss this chance. He pushed his face against the barred window.

When Johnson passed next to it, Charlie cleared his throat.

Johnson paused, looking at him. He froze momentarily, his head quickly turning to look up and down the hall, making sure there was no one else.

The other prisoners were either asleep or out of sight, because Johnson felt safe enough to fully turn towards Charlie.

"Well, aren't you a sight," he said in a low voice, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile although there was a frown of concern on his face. "Harsh night?"

Charlie rolled his eyes.

"You can say that," he said in an equally low voice.

"Everything went alright? Or do you need bailing out?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Not sure. The bastards got me on drug charges."

Johnson frowned.

"You had something on you?"

"No! They planted it."

Johnson's face relaxed.

"Oh, that's good."

"What's good about that?" Charlie asked, wondering if Johnson wasn't hit on the head last night as well.

"Seems like you got their interest. Otherwise they would've just grabbed you on assault and kicked your ass."

Charlie frowned. Johnson might've been right... why go to these lengths? On the other hand... they haven't approached him yet with anything. Though Charlie knew it was most likely because they were digging up some info on him.

"So what now?"

"They'll most likely let you stew a day or two," Johnson admitted. "Not much longer though. There are few fights coming up and their previous fighter had vanished." Johnson said that with more amusement than Charlie thought was necessary.

"They killed him off?" he asked, horrified.

"What? No. They picked up some guy passing through town, threw him in the cell for a bit too. But I managed to have a small chat with him and get him out on technicality. He left town in quite a hurry," Johnson seemed rather satisfied with himself. Charlie once again wondered why the hell didn't the guy manage to take down these bastards in the last two years, but he didn't question him.

"Great. So I'm their only choice?"

"So far. So don't screw it up. Unless you want out. Probably the last chance you get..."

Charlie shook his head. He wasn't going to bail now.

"Good." Johnson nodded. "I'll have your back, don't worry."

Charlie worried. Mostly because he wasn't sure how much pull Johnson had or how bad the situation could turn. But there was no sense in thinking about that right now. It was enough his stomach was like on water and his head throbbed from all the tension.

"I'll try and stop by later on," Johnson said, then looked down the hall. Charlie's ears perked up. He could hear voices and footsteps, people moving around. "Gotta go. Good luck."

"Thanks," Charlie muttered and watched as Johnson walked out of the holding cells. For a moment he truly envied him. The freedom to just walk out and go about his work.

With a sigh, Charlie turned away from the door and stepped back to the cot. The cell was utterly and boringly empty. There was nothing else to do but sit down and think. Right now when thinking was the last thing Charlie wanted to be doing.

Morning had turned into lunch, then afternoon. Charlie was wondering whether they just wanted to psyche him out or did they truly forget he was there. It was possible, after all he was brought in after the cops themselves had a few beers in them. Who knew if they haven't decided to return to one of the pubs.

Charlie worried that perhaps they decided to let him stew for the whole weekend. Which admittedly wouldn't be the worst thing ever, but he had a feeling the wait itself would drive him crazy. It didn't help that the officer who brought food had totally ignored his request for a call, or his statements about being locked up for no reason at all.

It wasn't like Charlie expected the cop to turn a blind eye on him or even feel sorry for him. He himself had heard more than enough suspects swearing they were innocent and falsely imprisoned. But he had to play the game, so he put up a fuss. All it got him was the plate with his food being 'accidentally' dropped on the floor. Oh well. Not like he was all that hungry.

It was turning close to evening, when Charlie heard footsteps down the hall. He could tell straight away it wasn't the officer who was on jail duty. The man was light on his feet. These steps were heavy and loud. There was also more than one person. Charlie automatically stood up and stepped to the door, peeking through the barred opening. As he thought. There was Douglas and another guy. This time it wasn't Kenneth accompanying him but Richard.

Charlie only ever saw the man on the picture, but the strange scar adorning the top of his lip was unmistakable.

There was no one else and Charlie realised there will be no other witnesses. Even Petey from the other cell was let go about an hour ago.

The door to his cell opened and both men stepped in, effectively blocking the only way out. If the cell felt small before, now it was outright stifling. Charlie had taken a few steps back as soon as he heard the key turning in the lock.

"Well well, how did you enjoy the night in here, Mr. Morris?" Douglas asked in what could have passed as a friendly tone, if not for the smirk on his face.

Charlie wanted to take another step back on reflex, but knew that doing that would show weakness and right now he couldn't afford that. He felt Richard's eyes on him, thoughtful and searching, as one would wager a horse before placing a bet on it. He had to stand his place, play his role.

"I would've enjoyed it more in my motel room," Charlie replied, keeping his back straight and facing Douglas. "Can I go now?"

Richard snorted.

"Really. You think this one will do?" the question was aimed at Douglas and Charlie felt his ire rise.

"He is a bit scrawny, but he had some moves," Douglas replied.

"Hey, what the hell are you talking about?" Charlie felt it was time to speak up.

Richard gave him a condescending look, one that Charlie was more used to getting from rich businessmen than cops.

"Shut up, I wasn't talking to you."

"Yeah, I am aware," Charlie said, taking a step forward. He knew he was taking a risk, but if he had to prove himself, so be it. As expected, his movement in such close quarters made both cops react. Douglas had put his hand on the baton that was on his side, while Richard took Charlie's approach as an invite for a fight. Without much warning, his fist shot out, aiming for Charlie's stomach.

Charlie was expecting that however. He moved to the side and the fist only brushed over his side. In a move he knew well since he started brawling with his brothers, Charlie grabbed the arm and pulled to the side, while sidestepping. Using the momentum, he smashed Richard against the wall.

He had only a second to enjoy his victory however. In the next moment he felt the baton connect with the back of his legs. He cried out as his legs gave out and he stumbled forward, crashing onto the cot. Richard had swung back, his face a mask of anger.

Charlie didn't even notice the fist before it connected with his left cheek.

For a moment everything turned grey. Charlie felt someone grabbing his shirt and pulling him forward. Charlie tensed, preparing for another blow.

It didn't come.

"Stop it, Rick. We need him in working order after all," Douglas spoke, his voice strangely amused.

" _If_ he agrees. If not... you will have plenty of time getting back your due."

Richard grinned, cracking his knuckles.

Charlie had to swallow a few times, his throat went dry all of a sudden.

"Agree to what?" he asked, still leaning on the cot at an awkward position. But he was aware that any sudden or unwanted movement right now would just get him a black eye at this point.

Douglas looked at Richard, as if wanting a confirmation. Albeit unwillingly, Richard gave a shrug.

"We are in need of someone who can handle a fight." Douglas lowered his voice. "Say Mr. Morris... what brought you into our lovely town?"

The sudden change of topic confused Charlie.

"Just passing by. Looking for a job."

"What kind of a job?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Whatever comes. I'm not picky."

"Not picky, aye? Cheating at pool? Selling drugs? That kind of stuff?"

Charlie sat up on the cot, ready to stand. He ignored the momentary dizziness in lieu of glaring at Douglas.

"I wasn't cheating and those drugs weren't mine!" he said, not even having to pretend to be angry.

Richard snorted.

"Yeah. As if we haven't heard that one before, right Doug? I'm pretty sure your cousin Dave will enjoy this one. He just _loves_ sending scum like you to prison for few years."

"You _planted it on me!"_

"Calm down, Chuckles," Douglas said and Charlie wanted to wipe the smirk from his face just for that nickname. But he saw the baton swishing warningly in the man's hand. So he grit his teeth and tried to count to ten. He had to remind himself this was part of the game he had to play.

"What do you want from me?" he uttered through clenched teeth.

"See? I knew he had some brains," Douglas said with a smile to Richard. The other man didn't seem very impressed.

"As I was saying, we need someone who can fight. Our last guy had an unfortunate accident," Douglas said, attempting to show something like remorse, even though he wasn't fooling anyone. "It left us in a bit of a stitch."

Charlie looked at him with a frown.

"What fight? I don't understand. You're cops."

Richard appeared bored, going as far as letting out a sigh worthy of a five year old being forced to sit still.

Douglas only raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, we are cops. Cops who have you on attempted assault, possession of drugs and wait... attacking a police officer?" Douglas looked at Richard, who smirked and nodded.

Charlie shook his head.

"That's all bullshit," he said.

"Might be. But seeing as my cousin Dave works at the court and there was always at least one more person as a witness, you are all but screwed, my friend."

Charlie knew that. He let all of his emotions cross his face. From anger, disbelief... to the sordid realization that he was at the mercy of some dirty cops.

Douglas and Richard gave him the time. As soon as his shoulders fell though, Douglas couldn't help the twitch of his lips.

"What do you want from me?" Charlie asked, this time making sure his tone was flat and resigned.

"Three fights. Then you are free to go."

Charlie frowned.

"Three fights? That's all?" he asked a bit dubious.

"What, you want more?" Richard snorted and Charlie quickly shook his head.

"What kind of fights?"

Douglas shrugged.

"One on one, in a ring. No weapons. Anything goes. Knocking out the opponent gets you a win."

Charlie still didn't look convinced.

"Do I have to win?"

"What kind of stupid question is it? If we wanted some fucking loser, we would've grabbed drunk ass Petey there," Richard said with disgust.

"Yeah well... I'd like to know what happens if I lose," Charlie said, annoyed.

"You get your ass kicked first by your opponent, then by Ricky here," Douglas answered simply.

And if he hadn't known better, Charlie would have been satisfied with that. Because he was pretty sure that if left alone with 'Ricky' he could kick his ass. The guy was all the flair, but no real skill it seemed.

"Three fights... then I can go?" Charlie asked, seeking reassurance. "With clean slate?"

Douglas nodded.

"If you win, yes. If not, well..." Douglas nodded towards Richard with a cold smile.

Charlie's fingers bore into the hard mattress underneath. He looked from one man to the other, as if he was weighing his options. Obviously, his silence was too long.

Douglas looked at his watch.

"Well, seems like Mr. Morris here doesn't want to go home anytime soon. Come on, Ricky. We have better things to do."

"Don't worry, Chuckles. If you don't say yes, I'll be sure to stop by a few times before you are shipped off to the prison," Richard said, giving Charlie's shoulder a heavy pat as he passed by.

Charlie winced, curling his hands into fists and pushing them into the mattress to stop himself from trying to punch the bastard. Douglas was already outside and Richard was stepping out the door when Charlie stood up, suddenly frantic at the sight of the closing door.

"Wait! No, you can't do this!"

Douglas locked the door, leaning against the window.

"Oh, we most definitely can and will. If I were you... I would think about it real hard."

"Screw you!" Charlie spat, angry at being cornered in such a way. Douglas just chuckled.

"Sleep tight. I'll want an answer in the morning."

Without another word, the two left. Charlie let out an angry growl, smacking the door with his hand. He pulled the punch at the last moment, aware of his already bruised knuckles. The hit still reverberated through the joints, a sparkling reminder that he already got himself into enough trouble. Now he had to spend another night on the stupid cot, most likely without dinner.

Somehow, Johnson had managed to sneak in about an hour after the others left. Charlie was still fuming at being left in the cell for another night. It seemed like the officer in charge of the cells had also left prematurely, once again forgetting to bring Charlie's food.

His stomach grumbling painfully, Charlie shortly filled in Johnson on his 'progress'. Johnson at least seemed to be satisfied with the speed things were going.

"That's good. I know they were checking out your background and it must've passed muster, otherwise you'd be gone by now."

"That's... not at all reassuring," Charlie muttered. "Say... could you bring me something to eat? Starvation and threats seems to be their main scare tactic so far."

Johnson grimaced.

"Sorry, I hadn't thought about it. I don't think I can risk coming back again tonight..."

Charlie grunted, pushing his head against the bars of the window. His stomach gave a loud protest.

"But hey... here." Johnson pulled a pack of Anzac biscuits from his pocket. "They might be a bit squished, but still edible."

"Oh, thank Lord," Charlie said, reaching for the pack. He could have inhaled the biscuits right on the spot, but he didn't want to appear that desperate, so he just held onto it.

"I'm sure you'll get something more tomorrow, I think it's Marty's turn and he's alright."

Charlie nodded distractedly. He still wasn't sure how it would all pan out and the three cops made his skin crawl. Each of them worse than the other.

Johnson cut his visit short, saying he would try to stop by the next day but that it might be tricky. Charlie understood, though it didn't make him feel any better. Being without proper backup and in such a vulnerable position, at the mercy of someone in power, was making him nervous.

"Hang on, Charlie. You're doing great so far," Johnson said as he was leaving and Charlie felt a wave of wistfulness. He would've appreciated the words more if he believed them... or if they were coming from someone he knew. Especially as he had his doubts about Lawson's reaction once the man finds out what Charlie got himself into. _If_ he would find out at all, that was.

* * *

Another night had passed and Charlie had woken up feeling more crappy than before. His joints were stiff, his whole body protesting the lack of movement. Even though he felt a bit weak from lack of food, the biscuits helping only so much, Charlie decided getting his blood pumping and joints moving would help his overall condition. So he started doing his warming up routine before his usual morning jog. As much as the closed space allowed of course. When his muscles became at least a bit less stiff, Charlie went down on the floor and started doing sit ups.

It was a few minutes later, in the middle of a series of push ups that he heard footsteps. He decided to finish the round anyway. It was better they see him working out than lying on the cot lifelessly.

"Ah, nothing better than a morning workout, isn't it right Douglas?" it was Kenneth's voice from the window, followed by a snicker.

Charlie grunted, pointedly finishing the series, then getting back up on his feet. He didn't even have to pretend, the glare appearing on his face was genuine. His empty stomach and the previous day of boredom had made him cranky enough, without Kenneth's smart mouth.

This time it seemed that Richard was missing, not that Charlie minded that. Two idiots at a time were enough to deal with. The whole trio would be unbearable.

There was no key rattling in the lock now. Kenneth had leaned back against the wall opposite of Charlie's cell, while Douglas was leaning against the door. If someone had walked in the hall it would seem as if they were all just having a friendly chat.

Charlie didn't feel friendly at all.

"So... have you decided yet?"

Douglas obviously wasn't the most patient man. Or they needed someone for a fight as soon as possible and had to know whether they should start looking for someone else.

Charlie was half tempted to draw this out, just to see how desperate they could be for a fighter. But that would probably mean more pain for him, not to mention he wanted to get out of the damn cell. He wanted some real food, a shower. Hell, he just wanted a chance to make more than few steps before encountering a wall.

He gritted his teeth, face set in a grimace.

"What guarantee do I get?"

Douglas's eyebrows went up and he exchanged an amused look with Kenneth.

"Do you hear it, Kenneth? This guy wants some... 'guarantees'."

Kenneth shook his head.

"What about the guarantee you only get your ass kicked in the ring, instead of getting the shit beaten out of you right now?" Kenneth said with a lopsided grin.

"Screw you!" Charlie spat, fed up with the idiot.

Douglas made a tutting sound and shook his head.

"Now Kenneth, try to be a bit nicer to our guest here. After all... depending on his answer, we might see him around for quite some time."

Douglas's words were an unveiled threat.

Charlie's fingers twitched nervously.

"Why would I agree if you just... throw me back in jail?"

Douglas shrugged.

"Jail isn't as bad after all. Free accommodation, food... oh wait. Did you find yesterday's lunch and dinner to your satisfaction?"

This time Charlie didn't even think, he stepped forward and spat through the bars, barely missing Douglas.

"You know fucking well I didn't get to eat anything, you bastard," he growled, his chin jutted out in anger. Douglas clenched his teeth and a set of keys rattled in his hands, almost threateningly. But it was obvious he was trying to control his own anger.

"Oh well, what a pity. Maybe you can get some soup tonight, who knows."

"You can't starve me!" Charlie argued, a bit mind boggled that they would even try to insinuate something like that towards a prisoner in their care. After all, this was still a police station. They couldn't have _that much_ power.

"Starving? Please, of course we wouldn't do that," Kenneth said with a smirk. "On the other hand, who knows what happens to slip into your food once in a while."

Charlie felt his stomach turn. He really had no control over the situation while being held prisoner. If not for Johnson serving as some kind of backup, he would be totally screwed.

He was losing patience with this whole farce and he knew that it was time to give in, even though he would love nothing more than to tell those bastards to go screw themselves.

It must've been apparent in his glare. Douglas raised a curious eyebrow, as if expecting another blow out.

Charlie focused his glare on Kenneth, making sure the man was aware of his disgust and dislike over the situation. Then he turned back to Douglas. With gritted teeth, he gave a nod.

"What's that?" Douglas asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Alright. I'll do it. Just let me out of this stink hole."

"Careful now, Charlie. You wouldn't want to insult this fine establishment now, do you?"

Charlie's fist curled in tighter, his nails digging into the skin of his palm so hard he was sure he drew blood.

He didn't say a thing, only kept glaring at Douglas.

The man finally nodded, then suddenly clapped his hands.

Charlie winced at the loud and unexpected sound, while Kenneth chuckled.

"Alright then! Looks like we will have some fun after all. See you soon, Chuckles."

Without another word, Douglas turned on his heels and marched out of the prison. Charlie frowned, his hands grabbing the bars.

"What? Wait! I said yes. Why don't you let me out?" he shouted after the retreating figure.

"Did you think we will just let you out and trust your word to appear at the place when said so?" Kenneth said with sarcasm dripping from his words. "Relax. We will let you out... when it will suit us. Now stop making a ruckus and maybe I will send someone in with a hearty breakfast."

With that, Charlie was left alone. Once again, to ponder his thoughts and wonder what did he manage to get himself into.

When twenty minutes later a young constable brought him a plate of something that tried to appear as food, Charlie was overcome by incredible longing for Jean's cooking. What wouldn't he give for one of her famous pies or even the Lamingtons she made for dessert the day before he left.


	4. 1st Fight

The room looked pretty much like a normal gym would, with a ring in the middle. Weights and other equipment were pushed to the side wall to make space for people. There were no seats, and it all looked more like an amateur fight of junior boxers.

Despite the slightly familiar atmosphere of a regular match, Charlie still felt nervous. After all, his brother or father have never been driven to a match with handcuffed wrists. Nor did they had a burlap sack thrown over their heads as soon as a couple of dirty cops pushed them inside a nondescript car as soon as the sun went down.

Charlie was still reeling from the ride, trying to fight off the nausea. Sitting in the back of the car and unable to see the road when Kenneth drove in a style to get rid of any possible follower was no fun at all.

At least the handcuffs came off as soon as they stepped into the building.

Charlie didn't have a clue where they were, but that didn't matter that much. He walked past the ring, his eyes taking in every possible detail he could later pass over to Johnson. There were two other men he didn't know milling around, getting the place ready. So far no spectators and Charlie figured that meant he had some time until the match started.

"You have an hour," Douglas spoke, as if reading his mind. He just opened a door to a small room and pushed Charlie inside. "Get ready. The building is locked up, so don't try anything stupid or you will step in that ring in handcuffs. See how much fun that would be."

Charlie took a few steps deeper into the room, deciding not to comment. Douglas took it as acceptance and promptly closed the door. Charlie heard the key turn in the lock.

At least he was left alone for the time being. Only thing worse than having an hour to stress himself out over the fight would have been having to spend that time in the company of Kenneth or Richard. Charlie could honestly say that Douglas was the most composed of the three. He was the leader of the group, and while Charlie didn't enjoy his company, he knew the man would think first before acting. Which made him less dangerous than the other two.

Kenneth was a... sadistic bastard, Charlie thought. The man enjoyed causing pain and discomfort, enjoyed the look of fear and pain in the eyes of others. But he wasn't the smartest of the bunch and Charlie already knew he was easy to provoke. For now he decided not to use that. But if he wanted some reaction, he knew who to aim his jibing at. Now Richard... or _Dick_ as Kenneth and Douglas called him whenever he wasn't around was harder to figure out.

Charlie's first impression was that it was a spoiled brat with a wealthy and influential father who never had to work hard for anything in his life. Charlie supposed the man also enjoyed causing trouble, knowing he was practically untouchable. He didn't seem as sadistic as Kenneth, but... Charlie only met him once. His impression might change easily.

The voices outside of his door brought Charlie back to the present. For a moment he wondered if maybe he could shout for help, but he chased that thought away. After all, he was where he wanted to be. Or at least where he needed to be at the moment. And if Johnson's information were true, the first two matches shouldn't be worse than a normal fight. He should be safe.

He was ready for this.

Charlie nodded, trying to calm down the rapid beating of his heart. He wasn't used to these pre-fight jitters and he wondered how Ray or his father handled this with such an ease. Of course, they did it for the love of the sport and there were rules set up for their protection. Charlie was pretty sure there would be no such rules tonight.

He had to get a hold of himself though. Taking a few deep breaths, Charlie checked out his current 'cell'. It must've been an old locker room. One wall was filled with open rusty lockers. There were two benches in the middle of the room and a small table in the corner. There was chalk powder and bandages, a jar of water and a glass. Well, at least he wouldn't die of thirst, Charlie thought. And he could make sure his hands had at least some protection for what was to come.

He didn't expect so many people. The gym was filled up pretty much the same as when Charlie visited one of Ray's matches. The only difference was the people weren't sitting around. There were no women there either. Mostly folks who looked like hard workers, wanting to let off some steam at the end of the day. And of course several guys who looked like they would be willing to bet on their momma's passing if it got them a buck or two.

As he was pushed not so gently towards the ring by Kenneth, Charlie traced the faces, burning them into his memory for later reference. Trying to figure out if there was someone reporting back to Johnson or if he was truly alone. Unfortunately, Charlie didn't know anyone in the town so his guess was just that. A guess.

"Time to shine, Chuckles," Kenneth hissed into his ear as he pushed Charlie into the ring.

Charlie gritted his teeth, wishing that it was Kenneth he was supposed to fight. He would have no inhibition kicking that man in the face.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the case. Charlie felt exposed and nervous, standing at the edge of the ring. All the eyes were on him and he hated the attention. At least this fight was a bit different from the usual boxing matches. Which meant that Charlie could keep his pants and shoes on, though Kenneth made him take off his jacket and sweater, leaving him only the undershirt. Still, it was better than the usual outfit. At least Charlie thought so, until he saw his opponent walking in, free as a bird and with a grin on his face.

The guy was slightly bigger than Charlie, definitely more muscled. He was also wearing some broken in jeans and an undershirt. What caught Charlie's attention though were his boots. If he was not mistaken, those had a hard steel toe. If kicks were allowed... well. Charlie most definitely didn't want to get a taste of that.

With the arrival of the second fighter, one of the gym guys jumped into the ring with them as the referee and blew on his whistle. The people around had quieted down.

"Welcome to another fight night!" The referee called out and the crowd grumbled, expectant.

"On the left, we have a new fighter. 170 pounds walking wet, Chuckles from Georgia. So far no recorded wins. On the right, there is Tyron the bull from Mossgiel. 195 pounds, three time champion, one time loser. Bets are 3 to 1 for Tyron, 5 to 1 for Chuckles. Place your bets."

The crowd was waiting just for that. The roar of numbers and names felt overwhelming, until Charlie focused on his opponent. Three times champion...

The man's face looked rather unimpressed. The crooked nose evidence of broken cartilage and lost fights. Somehow, it didn't make Charlie feel any better. He caught sight of Douglas at the back of the room, watching, assessing. When their eyes met, Douglas gave a curt nod. It was clear he expected Charlie to win, or else...

Kenneth behind him chuckled and gave Charlie a pat that was anything but friendly.

"You better watch out for this one. Last time he won, his opponent had to be taken out on a stretcher. Not sure the guy ever get back on his feet either," Kenneth added with a smirk. Charlie decided to ignore him. He had already stretched in the locker room, but he thought it was better to do it again and get the blood pumping. He would have to be fast.

So far, all the preparation Tyron seemed to be doing was cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders. Charlie tried to figure out if the man was pushed into this the same as him, but it didn't seem so. After all, the referee said he was a three time champion. Either he was used only for the smaller fights, or... he already killed or seriously injured some other poor sap. Seeing the glint of expectation in the man's eyes and the twitch of his lips, Charlie assumed he was in this on his own volition.

Which made him... an acceptable target. Charlie was worried that he would be put into a ring with some other hapless victim. It would be hard to fight someone who was forced to be there. But a willing opponent? Charlie didn't have to feel any sympathy for that.

A whistle from the referee made the crowd calm down once again. The betting was closed. With a nod of his head, the referee called both fighters to himself.

"Rules are simple, gentlemen. No weapons, no death. First one to stay on the ground for longer than fifteen seconds is the loser. All clear?"

Both Charlie and Tyron nodded. The referee took a few steps back, then gave another whistle.

The match began.

More out of familiarity than anything else, Charlie took up the typical boxing stance he learned from his dad. First rule that was drilled into him by both his father and later on by Hobart was to always protect your head.

Charlie didn't know his opponent's fighting style yet. So he pulled his arms up and took a few steps back, rocking on his heels. Waiting... observing.

Tyron did the same.

For a bit, they circled each other in a slow dance, ignoring the calls of the crowd, cheering for a punch or a kick. After a minute or so Tyron suddenly broke the pattern and moved forward, striking first.

Charlie was waiting for it, his forearm blocked the punch. He stepped back, keeping up the block, dancing on his feet.

Tyron moved around him, assessing. The crowd let out a dissatisfied sound. Tyron attacked again.

Charlie blocked the first punch, but he didn't really expect the second one that followed right away. The fist connected with his stomach and he grunted, his arms slipping down in reflex. He saw the fist coming his way again and knew he couldn't block it in time. He did the next best thing.

Leaned over more, almost cradling his stomach. The fist flew over his head, brushing his hair.

Charlie barely felt it. During the move Tyron had opened himself as well. Still in a slightly bent over position, Charlie charged forward, hitting the man square in the chest.

They both careened into the ropes. Charlie heard the air rush out of Tyron in a surprised 'oomph' sound. The crowd cheered.

This was a no rule fight.

Charlie, still practically leaning on Tyron, used the proximity and gave him several quick punches in the gut.

The man's stomach felt like stone however and Charlie realized his mistake quickly.

Tyron let out a pissed off growl and with a hard show pushed Charlie off of him. Charlie stumbled back. As soon as there was some distance between them, Tyron kicked out.

It was pure luck that the boot with the steel toe hit Charlie in the thigh instead of the stomach. It still hurt like hell. Charlie cried out, stumbling once more, feeling as if his leg would buckle under him at any moment.

The crowd started chanting something Charlie didn't really catch. He had enough trouble keeping on his feet and all he could focus on was Tyron. The man's face turned into a dark grimace and this time it was him who leaned forward. His eyes shone with madness.

In that moment Charlie understood the man's nickname.

With a roar, the man charged forward like a bull.

Charlie's eyes went wide. He had but a second to react. He had to get out of the way or he was dead.

Bill's words suddenly rang in his ears.

' _If you are to be hit, make yourself as small a target as possible.'_

With no time left, Charlie turned sideways. Tyron was aiming at his chest, instead he clipped him on the shoulder.

Charlie was thrown off his feet, onto the ropes. Tyron turned, madder than before.

Charlie cursed as he saw the man charging again.

He felt like a blasted toreador instead of a boxer. He backed into the rope, then used the elasticity to give him some speed. He had to finish this, before Tyron got in another hit.

Propelling himself forward, just as Tyron was heading at him, Charlie sidestepped and used his arms to push Tyron past himself. Then as the man went head into the ropes, Charlie followed him with a furious kick at the back of the man's knee.

There was a resounding crack, followed by a scream. Bill would have been proud.

All Charlie felt was disgust as he watched Tyron crumble to the floor, his arms reaching for the knee. Even without a medical degree Charlie could tell it was broken. The unnatural angle of the leg was enough.

The whole room went silent, except for the pained screams and grunts of Tyron, who was now rolling on the floor.

The referee stepped forward and started counting.

The crowd started shouting, for Tyron to get up, for Tyron to stay down.

Charlie didn't listen.

It all felt like a roaring wave. All he could see was the man on the ground, the bent knee. The fact it was him who caused the damage.

He didn't even note the referee saying fifteen, grabbing his right arm and raising it in the air, until the crowd cheered.

Charlie had won his first fight.

All he could think was _'What the hell did I do?'_

* * *

Charlie's head was in a bit of a fog. Not the least because once again he had a sack thrown over his head and was unceremoniously thrown into the back of the car. At first, he just went with the flow, relieved that the fight was over. He wasn't sure if there were more fights to happen tonight. The crowd was still at the gym as he was ushered out by Kenneth.

He caught sight of a balding, angry looking man berating Tyron, who was grimacing in pain, supported by two other guys. Charlie looked around and spotted Douglas heading toward the man, most likely to try and calm down the situation. Richard was sitting behind a desk in the corner and paying out the bets.

So it was Kenneth and Charlie heading to the car. It would have been a perfect moment for Charlie to escape really. All he had to do was overpower one guy, grab his car keys and leave town. Of course, Charlie wasn't about to do any such thing, That would go against his whole plan. But... he had to play the role and so he got ready for another show. He followed Kenneth without a word, without a struggle, even though the man was having a bruising grip on his left arm.

Kenneth had led him out through what seemed to be the back exit, into a dark alley. Charlie grimaced. It was late night and there was really nothing he could use to identify the place, especially as he wasn't a local. No signs visible, only several other buildings, seemingly empty in the darkness of the night. The nearest lights were coming from the end of the alley, but all Charlie saw was a corner of another building and a road. Nothing else.

So far, even if he managed to get to a phone and call Johnson, there was very little he could tell him. Charlie would be able to identify or describe several people and Johnson would most likely find the gym easily, but by the time that happened, the place would be cleaned up.

All this, combined with the fact he was just being dragged by Kenneth like some unruly kid, made Charlie's emotions hard to stomach.

They had just reached the car, and Charlie was about to pull back, possibly smash Kenneth's nose against the car door. God, how satisfying that would be...

Charlie managed only to pull his arm out of Kenneth's grasp, when the car's engine suddenly came to life, startling the living heck out of him. There was someone inside the car, sitting behind the wheel.

Kenneth snorted.

"What... you thought I am stupid? It's clear you would try to flee when given the chance."

Charlie gritted his teeth.

"You have my ID and money. Where the hell would I go?" he argued half heartedly.

Kenneth shrugged, obviously not caring and not convinced.

"Only place you going is the back seat," he said and showed Charlie inside.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Charlie hissed, hands curled into tight fists. He was sore all over and Kenneth wasn't exactly gentle. He was half expecting a punch for the sole impudence. All he got though was a slap on the back of his head.

"Watch that mouth, or I'll make sure next time we bring a pair of old socks to gag you."

The guy in the front seat chuckled, then threw the dreaded burlap sack at Charlie. It bumped against his chest before he caught it on reflex.

"Put that on."

"You can't be serious," Charlie muttered, half mindful of his tone. He didn't know how short a fuse this other guy had and he didn't feel ready to find out.

The guy just raised an eyebrow. Kenneth had slammed the door next to Charlie closed, barely missing his hand. Charlie cursed. His hope that Kenneth might leave them alone and return to the gym was dashed when the man had settled on the passenger seat.

"You told me I could go after the fight," Charlie said, hardly containing his anger.

"After _three_ fights. Did Tyron hit your head too much? Did you forget to count?" Kenneth asked in a mocking tone.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Back to jail, unless you put on the damn sack," Kenneth warned.

Gruffly and with great distaste, Charlie pulled the sack over his head. His hands were free after all. Maybe he could take a few peeks during the drive and try to figure out where he was heading.

As soon as his eyes were covered, the driver started the car and pulled off. Charlie moved closer to the door, partially leaning against it. Really, this style of riding in the car must've been his least favourite. The burlap was also thick enough that the voices were muffled and Charlie had to keep one hand up holding at it and occasionally lifting it away from his face. Breathing was uncomfortable and every turn or bump of the car carried the risk of nausea.

„Keep that damn thing on!" Kenneth barked at him one moment as the car slowed down and he noted Charlie's hand.

„I have to breathe," Charlie snapped back, lowering his hand a bit. Kenneth said something that was lost in the noise of the engine. Whatever it was it made the other guy chuckle loudly. Charlie didn't care asking for him to repeat it.

Instead he turned his head to the side and tried to lift the corner of the sack as inconspicuously as possible. The darkness inside the car played in his favour and Kenneth seemed to be busy recounting the fight to the driver.

„You should have been there, Ben. I swear, I heard Tyron's knee snap. Dude screamed as if someone chopped off his leg," Kenneth laughed and Charlie grimaced. Of course the bastard enjoyed that. The mere thought of the incident, the memory of the sound made Charlie's skin crawl.

He finally managed to get a look outside. He recognized part of the town they were currently driving through. He had walked these parts the second day of his arrival to Leighton, hoping to familiarize himself with it. He frowned. If he wasn't mistaken, they were heading to the edge of the town. If they drove outside to some recluse place, Charlie's chances at contacting Johnson or even telling him his location were drastically lower.

They drove for ten more minutes and Charlie had to let the burlap sack fall over his vision when Kenneth once again turned towards him. Catching the growled warning, Charlie didn't dare try again. There would have to be another opportunity.

When the car finally stopped, Charlie didn't wait for a permission. He pulled the sack off, taking in several deep breaths.

„Hey, what the hell do you think you doing?" Kenneth snapped at him and Charlie heard the car door opening. Before he could say anything, Kenneth had opened the door he was leaning against, grabbed his shirt and pulled him outside. The move was so fast and Charlie was so disoriented that he ended up on the gravel. It wasn't a big fall, especially as Kenneth was half in the way, but nevertheless, he landed on his already bruised side. Charlie let out a pained gasp and a curse.

„Did I tell you to take it off?" Kenneth asked, throwing the sack at Charlie angrily. Charlie winced.

„I was about to puke, you asshole," he growled out, spitting satisfyingly close to Kenneth's foot. Kenneth cursed and was about to deliver a swift kick that would have most likely hit Charlie right in the face.

Ben, the driver, saved him though.

„Hey, chill man. You don't want to damage the package before the next fight, do you?"

Kenneth spat, but stepped back.

„As if someone would notice if I screwed over his face a bit."

Ben chuckled.

„Douglas would. And he needs to be in one piece still. Not like he can go and call for help. There's fucking nowhere to go."

Ben was right.

While Kenneth was fuming, Charlie slowly got back up on his feet. He couldn't see a damn thing. The only light was coming from inside a sturdy looking brick house about twenty yards away. Charlie noticed some lights in the distance, but couldn't make out how far they were. All he saw were few gum trees and bushes. Just like he feared. They were somewhere outside of town, on private property.

Kenneth must've seen the lost look on his face because he relaxed.

„You're right, Ben. Nowhere to go, Chuckles. You better remember that."

Charlie gritted his teeth.

With some rather unnecessary nudging, he headed towards the entrance. Ben unlocked the door and Charlie noted there were at least two locks on the door. That didn't bode well for him. The house was quiet and Charlie realized the light that was on was in the hallway to the stairs. He was led through a narrow hall, past two different doors. He caught sight of a kitchen and a furnished living room. The place smelled... lived in. There was some dust in the air and Charlie was pretty sure there was no woman around sprucing it up like Jean did. The most overpowering was the smell of cigarette smoke. Charlie cringed his nose at that, but didn't comment. He was half hoping to be led upstairs, to a room with windows. Maybe he could figure out where he was during the day. His hopes were dashed quickly though as Kenneth gave him a nudge and pointed him towards the door under the stairs.

Charlie shot him a look of disbelief.

"You can't be serious." Was he going to be locked up in some cupboard? How much space could there be?

Ben and Kenneth smirked.

"Oh, stop being a drama queen."

Ben walked ahead past him and Charlie just now noticed that the door was also locked up. Once it was open, Ben switched on the light and Charlie could see stairs going under.

"Come on, I don't have all night," Kenneth pushed him ahead. Charlie reluctantly walked down the concrete steps. He was expecting a cellar or a dungeon at this point. Instead he reached a spacious hall with several doors. It seemed like the owner built another floor underground, just as large as the house upstairs. For what reason, Charlie didn't know. He wasn't about to complain either though.

"You have free reign over here, Chuckles. Bathroom is over there, kitchen is there. Pick a room with open door. Anything locked is out of bounds. Oh... and be sure not to piss off the other guy. I'd rather not look for a new fighter just yet."

With that piece of wisdom, Kenneth looked at Ben.

"If he tries anything... well. I'm sure you still have that cattle prod lying around somewhere." Kenneth's eyes actually twinkled. Charlie shuddered as Ben gave a short nod.

Finally, Kenneth had left the building. Ben had headed towards the stairs as well, keeping a safe distance between himself and Charlie, as if expecting him to bolt any second. Frankly, Charlie was too tired for that.

"Are you a cop too?" Charlie asked out of the blue. He didn't remember seeing Ben at the station, nor in any of the files Johnson showed him. Not a mention of the man.

Ben shook his head.

"No. That doesn't mean I can't kick your ass if you try anything though."

Charlie gave him a look.

"Whatever man. I just want to take a shower and lie down."

Ben nodded towards the bathroom.

"Do keep away from the other dude. He's... a bit temperamental."

"What other dude?" Charlie was confused. He still didn't hear any movement and he couldn't see sign of another person.

Ben pointed towards one of the doors, the one at the farthest end of the hallway.

"You will see. Now go scramming. If you need anything, knock on the door. Or scream. I should hear."

Well, that was encouraging. Not. Charlie waited until Ben closed the door and locked him in. Wonderful. Charlie had just exchanged one prison for a different one. He wondered if he wouldn't have been better off stuck at the police station's holding cell.

His feet gave a twinge of protest upon standing in one place for too long. His muscles were already getting stiff and sore from the fight. It was time to take a quick look around and then get that shower. Not much else to do there it seemed.

Charlie made a quick sweep of the hallway. Five doors total. He decided to leave the furthest one for later. He had no interest in finding out who his 'temperamental' companion could be. He headed for the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat. The old fridge was rumbling loudly. There was a pot with something home cooked, but one look at the concoction made Charlie force down a swallow. It smelled wrong.

He discovered some toast bread and a jar of jam, so he made a quick sandwich and put it on a plate. The second door was the bathroom and he was pleased to see there was an actual bath tub there. Nothing better to soak sore muscles, under the provision that there was hot water of course. The next two rooms were both unlocked bedrooms. Unoccupied and furnished the same. Charlie picked the one that didn't neighbour with the 'other guy's' room. He wolfed down the sandwich, settling on a bed with a firm mattress. There was a table and a chair, a clothes hanger. No window, no way out. There was a key in the lock, though Charlie was sure it was more protection from the other occupant of the prison. He would bet that Ben had a copy of every key from the house.

He didn't have any spare clothing and there wasn't any in the drawer either. Charlie grimaced at the thought of having to do with the one set he was wearing now, especially seeing as it had blood and sweat covering it. He decided to ask Ben for something to wear in the morning. Till then, he would just have to do.

Charlie locked himself in the bathroom and peeled off the dirty clothes. He wished to slide into the bathtub and let the hot water warm his bones and sooth his muscles, but it was late and he was tired. Too tired to stay up much longer and he really didn't wish to fall asleep in the tub.

So he took a quick shower, washing off the dirt and blood. He noted the growing bruise on his thigh. The bastard got him good there. His stomach also felt sore, along with a few ribs, but he was pretty sure nothing was broken yet. He wasn't sure what Kenneth or the others might do to him if he got seriously hurt. Somehow he doubted they would offer medical help. More like a bullet in the head, or just drive him out into the bush and leave him there.

Charlie couldn't let that happen. He knew he won this fight as much by luck as by skill and it worried him. What awaited him on the next one? And how could he contact Johnson? So far, he haven't seen a phone in this house. True, he didn't get a chance to look properly, but he had a feeling he won't get that anytime soon. What was there left to do?

Find out as much as possible, stay alive and in one piece. Then find a way to contact Johnson.

It sounded so easy, Charlie thought as he was towelling himself off, putting back on his underwear and shirt. Everything else was too dirty to wear to bed.

He was already lying beneath the blanket in the darkened room, half asleep when he heard steps outside of his room.

Charlie blinked, then realised that even though his eyes were used to the dark there was no light whatsoever. He still heard the knob turn slowly, the click... then several seconds of silence, before he caught the sound of retreating footsteps.

Charlie let out a breath he was holding, thanking the lord he didn't forget to lock the door.

It took a moment longer for his heart to settle down so he could finally get some sleep.


	5. The Flatmate

For a moment Charlie didn't know if it was day or night when he woke. Without a window it was impossible to say. Reaching for the bedside lamp he squinted at his watch. Past ten in the morning.

Charlie blinked.

After the little scare in the middle of the night when someone tried to get into his room he had slept through like a log. The fact the bed was much more comfortable than the cot in the cells might've had something to do with it. Or it was just exhaustion.

Yawning, Charlie sat up in bed, stretching slowly then cringing as several bruises let themselves know. Remembering last night, he turned to look at the door in a ridiculous fear that somehow someone managed to get inside in the middle of the night.

The door was still closed.

He could hear some noise at the other side though; voices.

Charlie froze for a second then shook it off. He was a cop for goodness sake. True, his situation wasn't the safest, but... so far they needed him.

Still a bit tentative, Charlie walked towards the door, putting his ear on it, hoping to figure out what the voices were talking about. Who they were.

He recognized Ben's voice, telling someone to get lost. A door closed with a slam. There was a rapid knock on Charlie's door and he stepped back, startled.

Not even five second later Charlie could hear the rattle of keys being ruffled through. If he had to have the door open, he would very well do so himself.

"One sec," he called out, voice thick from sleep and sounding more gruff than usual. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. It was stupid, but he felt actual relief upon seeing Ben was alone. Though once he poked his head out to look into the hall, he could hear footsteps above. That meant they weren't alone in the house.

"Hey. Slept well?" Ben asked with a smirk, then raised an eyebrow as his eyes spotted Charlie's scarce attire. Despite the situation, Charlie blushed. Hell, this was hardly his style.

"Yeah... if I ignore the half freezing to death," he grumbled more to make a point than that it was true. "I will need some clothes-" he started but didn't go any further. Ben just nodded and handed Charlie a bag. Charlie took it automatically, a bit dumbfounded he haven't noticed it in the first place. Then he frowned.

It was his own damn backpack.

"Wait... how?"

Another shrug.

"You won't have to worry about the motel either. You have been signed out."

Ben looked as if they did him a favour.

Charlie's jaw clenched and he realized by the end of this assignment he would probably need some dental work.

"Thanks," he said, taking a peek into the bag. The bastards must've checked the whole motel room. He was suddenly happy that he decided to get rid of all the files and numbers that might've given him up. Though now the only place all of that was stored was in his head. Better not get it knocked off his shoulders then.

"What now?" he asked, looking at Ben curiously. For the first time Ben seemed a bit unsure.

"I dunno, man. Enjoy the rest until the next one? I just filled up the kitchen. If you want, I can bring some books next time, but that's about as far as I can go. Oh, and you better keep in shape. I heard the next one will be a dozy."

That didn't make Charlie feel any better.

"So I am locked up in here? All day?"

Ben nodded, looking almost sorry. That wouldn't do.

"Come on, can't I go upstairs? Take a bit of fresh air?"

Ben raised an eyebrow as if asking if Charlie thought he was stupid. Charlie sighed, letting the idea go for a moment.

"What's with the other dude?"

"What do you mean?"

"Someone was trying to get into my room last night. I'd like to know if I should worry about that."

Ben shrugged.

"Worry about what you want. The kid... has his moods. I'd keep away from him, but... if you want to risk getting a knife in the back, suit yourself. Have a nice chat."

Charlie frowned. Was the man serious? The smirk he gave him at the end wasn't filling Charlie with confidence.

"You're all jerks," he muttered under his breath and decided that he would have to figure things out for himself. After all, it seemed he would have some time to kill.

Ben ignored him after this and headed back upstairs. Charlie wanted to ask more questions, but it didn't seem to be the right time. Someone was upstairs and if it was one of the guys that got him there, Charlie actually preferred not to see them today. If they'd came downstairs, he would have to show how unimpressed he was by this new arrangement. With Kenneth's temper, that might just get him a few more bruises to nurse.

Charlie retreated back to his room, once again locking the door. He decided that until he knew who his flatmate was, he would be cautious. He threw the bag on the bed and went through it sparsely. Not much to find. It was filled with his clothes, a half-read noir novel he bought on his way there at the station. No other personal items. Charlie noted that whoever packed his bag 'forgot' to add his ID, wallet and the knife he had hidden at the bottom of the bag for case of need. His shaving kit and toiletries were there though and Charlie wondered if he should take a shave.

His hand ran over his cheek, feeling the stubble. At first it irritated him to no ends, but he was aware that freshly shaven he looked just too goody-goody. The stubble had given him some bite, even if it was just for show. He looked into the small mirror in the kit and noted the bruise on his right cheek, the split lip. Nah. It wouldn't do any good to shave at this point. It would just make him look like a beaten up puppy.

Grimacing at his own thoughts Charlie threw the mirror back into his bag along with the shaving kit. He wasn't presenting the police force right now. He didn't have to be clean shaven. But... he would definitely prefer to be clean clothed. He grabbed some fresh shirt and pants along with a toothbrush and headed for the bathroom. He hesitated only momentarily, locking the room behind himself. He really didn't fancy finding someone inside after a shower.

* * *

Charlie had spent half a day just lounging around. He took a shower, made himself some food and even exercised as much as it was possible. Of course he went through the whole basement, except for the only locked room hiding it's mysterious occupant. Charlie could hear the occasional sound of movement from that room, and around lunch time there was a repetitive sound that sent shivers down his spine. It sounded as if someone was throwing a knife at the wall. Repeatedly. Charlie hoped the occupant was just playing darts, but combined with what Ben had told him, Charlie worried that wasn't the truth.

He wasn't too keen on meeting the person, but... he was there for a reason. And it seemed the guy was in a similar predicament to his own. If that was true, Charlie felt obliged to help. Who knew, maybe it was an ally that could help him in return. Or serve as another witness, if this case got in front of a judge.

After lunch time passed without any visitors or barely even a movement heard from upstairs, Charlie was getting bored. Boredom led to worry, because all his mind could think about was the dreadful prospects if he didn't find a way to contact Johnson. Charlie didn't try to kid himself. He knew his chance at winning fights was more about luck than skill, especially if the stakes were getting higher and the opponents stronger.

When he felt as if his lunch wasn't going to sit well with him due to the worry that caused his stomach to tighten, Charlie started pacing his room. He had to make some plan. There were two things he could do today. Find out who was his flatmate and try to establish some friendship. Or at least figure out if he should be keeping an eye on one more person that might have a temper... and a knife.

Second issue was Johnson. Charlie needed a phone. There was none in the basement of course, but... he was pretty sure he heard a familiar ringing tone about two hours earlier coming from upstairs. Which meant he needed to get out of the basement, undetected and use the phone. His best chance was during the night, when hopefully Ben would be asleep. Now Charlie only needed to find out if he was able to pick the lock without being noticed.

Easier said than done.

Charlie didn't have any lock picking set, but a short perusal of the kitchen and the drawers helped him to come up with some paperclips. Charlie spent a bit of time adjusting the clips to his satisfaction. He was glad that one of his first courses in Sydney was focused on lock picking techniques, but he would be lying if he said that one taught him what to do. No. Most of Charlie's knowledge came from Blake. The man loved to play detective and for that he sometimes needed to get into locked rooms. During one of the more harrowing cases, Charlie caught him trying to get into the apartment of a suspect. Charlie of course gave Blake a scolding look and entered the apartment brandishing a key from the building owner, but... next evening, with the suspect safely locked away and the case closed, Charlie had asked Blake about it.

" _Did you really think you could get in with a bobby pin?" Charlie wondered as they were sitting on the couch, Charlie drinking a cold beer while Blake was sipping his favourite whiskey. Blake looked up and gave Charlie one of his patented smiles._

" _Why, of course I could. Nothing hard about it, Charlie."_

_Charlie frowned. He knew from academy that lock picks and thieves could open just about anything with proper tools, but he didn't expect the Doctor to be handy with a bobby pin._

" _What can I say. Surgeon hands," Blake added, seeing the doubt on his face._

" _How many doors have you opened that way, Doc?"_

_Blake's eyebrows rose._

" _Now that would be a bit incriminating information, Charlie, don_ _'t you think_ _?" he winked and took a sip. Jean had chuckled from her seat, shooting Blake an amused look from her knitting._

_Charlie rolled his eyes that time, but the debate had continued until Charlie managed to convince Blake that he wanted to see it or he didn't believe it._

_Blake was always up to prove a point and so he gave Charlie a proper lock picking lesson, demonstrating his skill on the lock to his mother's study. By the time Jean finished knitting the scarf, Blake drank his third glass and Charlie was on his second beer, he managed to actually open the lock himself several times. Charlie wasn't sure what felt better. Hearing the click of the lock opening or seeing the proud look on Blake's face._

At the time he didn't think he would be using that as anything other than a party trick. After all, cops hardly needed to pick locks. They either got the key or kicked the door down. Subtlety was not much of a requirement in the police force.

Right now though Charlie needed to be subtle and careful. Which meant he would have to wait till late night to even attempt anything. Still, he wanted to take a look and familiarize himself with the lock and his surroundings. He had a feeling he would have to try and do it mostly in darkness, which would complicate things.

Early in the evening, Charlie casually stepped out of his room and headed for the stairs. He noted somehow happily that they were concrete and thus didn't pose a danger in form of squeaking or making any other noise that could give him away. After careful perusal, Charlie concluded that the lock on the door was a simple one and he should be able to pick it without trouble. Getting out and about in the house might be a bigger issue, he thought as he heard footsteps and voices on the other side of the door. He recognized Kenneth's voice hollering, though he couldn't make out the words. When the footsteps sounded to be coming closer, Charlie quickly retreated back to his room. The paper clips lay hidden under his mattress.

Whatever Kenneth wanted obviously didn't involve Charlie though as the man never came down. But it worried him that he didn't know how many people were upstairs at a given moment. He wondered if he should even try to risk anything before the second fight. So far he wasn't in any obvious danger and outside of a pitiful description of the house where he was kept all he could tell Johnson was Ben's name and description. Maybe he would leave the escape attempts for when he actually had something to share, Charlie thought, then froze.

He heard a door open and someone walking in front of his room. Then the slam of the bathroom door. His flatmate was up and about. Charlie decided it was time he introduced himself.

Charlie threw a wistful look towards his bag. He would have preferred to have something he could possibly use for defence if the meeting went wrong. Then he realized it was stupid. He let Ben and Kenneth get into his head. After all, the guy seemed to be as much a prisoner as himself. Charlie doubted his first instinct would be to attack. Making up his mind, Charlie stepped outside of his room and headed towards the kitchen. He could maybe put on a kettle and make some tea. As good a reason as any to start a conversation.

He poured water and turned on the flame then settled down to wait. There was a sound of flushing and running water. The kettle started to whistle. Charlie poured the water into his cup and turned around just in time to see a figure trying to sneak back to his room unnoticed.

"Hey," Charlie called out, putting the kettle down. The figure stopped, shoulders tensing. "Uh... hello?" Charlie said, trying to sound unthreatening. The man slowly turned around.

Charlie blinked.

A boy. This was no man. The wiry figure belonged to a boy that couldn't have been more then nineteen, maybe less. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants, hair ruffled and unkempt. His eyes were sunken and something about him just sit wrong with Charlie. The look in those eyes. It was wild and twitchy.

"What?" the boy snapped, jutting out his chin threateningly.

Charlie instinctively raised his hands in the signal of peace.

"Nothing. I just... wanted to introduce myself. I'm Charlie," he said, then held out a hand. He kept his tone easy and even managed to give a slight smile. He was trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. For God's sake... what was a kid doing here?

The boy frowned at the hand and it was clear he didn't trust him. But his posture eased a bit.

"Caleb," he muttered with a nod, pushing his own hands deep inside his pockets, pointedly ignoring the offered handshake.

Charlie put his own hand down, the smile still not leaving his face.

"Nice to meet you," he said.

Caleb shot him a look of disbelief.

"Uh yeah. Sorry. Probably not a situation in which you want to meet anyone." Charlie realized he was babbling and shook his head. Damn. He was expecting some pumped up guy ready to tear his head off. Not a strung out teenager who reminded him of one of his kid brothers. "Do you want some tea?"

The kid... _Caleb,_ Charlie corrected himself, gave a half shrug. He stayed in place until Charlie turned back to the kettle preparing another cup. He heard the shuffle of the chair behind and forced down the urge to spin around. He wasn't usually this twitchy, but the last few days made him... careful. And hearing a stranger moving behind him made the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention.

Still, he managed to appear unbothered and put the second cup in front of Caleb, settling down in the chair opposite.

Caleb took a sniff of the liquid, grimaced, then took a sip.

Charlie tried not to look at him, or at least not to be too obvious about his perusal of the kid. Was he a teenager? Was he dangerous? Was he ill?

All those questions ran through his head as he took in the pale taunt skin. The long-sleeved shirt seemed a bit strange too, though seeing the kid latch onto the warm cup with both hands Charlie surmised he might just feel chilled. That was until he noted the slight shaking of said hands and the way Caleb's eyes seemed to jump from one place to another, barely focusing on anything.

Charlie took a sip of his own tea, trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat. He was pretty sure that if he had reached out and rolled up Caleb's sleeves he would find track marks.

Charlie didn't know what kind of operation was Douglas running. He could somehow understand the fight club aspect of it, but why would anyone want to be holding hostage a possibly drug addicted kid?

Charlie had a myriad of questions popping into his mind, but he was aware of the standoffish vibe Caleb was giving off.

"How old are you?" he asked instead. For some reason he just couldn't handle the thought that he was locked up with a kid. That would change all their plans.

Caleb looked up at him from behind the cup, his eyes turning into a glare.

"What do you care?"

Charlie wasn't sure how to respond so he shrugged.

"Am old enough," Caleb uttered.

"For what? Fighting in a cage like an animal?" Charlie couldn't stop himself.

Caleb's eyes glinted dangerously and a wild smirk appeared on his face that made Charlie remember Ben's warning.

"Old enough to take care of myself, whatever way necessary."

Obviously it was enough conversation for the moment. Caleb stood, leaving the half empty cup to rattle against the table, some of the tea sloshing out.

"Stay out of my way, would you?" he hissed, then headed to his room.

Charlie stayed rooted on the seat, not even entertaining the thought of following. His hand clutched the cup as his eyes followed the retreating form.

Charlie felt confused and out of place more than before. On one hand, he worried about the idea of a kid being held here as prisoner, obviously dependent on some illegal substances. On the other hand... Caleb didn't seems to be a kid anymore. The look he gave Charlie, the hissed warning... it all sent shivers of danger down his spine. Caleb's eyes showed it all. He had survived some though shit and he was far from a child. It remained to be seen whether he needed to be rescued or not.

Charlie ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky breath. This meeting didn't go as well as he hoped. What was worse, neither he nor Johnson were counting on another person being held hostage. This could go wrong in so many ways and Charlie had no clue how to proceed.

Would Caleb be of help or would he be a risk?

Charlie shook his head. He didn't have enough information. Which meant he would have to operate as if Caleb was a threat, at least where his own attempts at getting to a phone were concerned. If the years in the force taught him anything it was not to trust an addict, especially not when someone else held his supply of drugs.

For now, Charlie decided to proceed according to his plan. He would just have to make sure that Caleb wouldn't get involved and mess it up for him.

* * *

Charlie should have realized that things never turn out exactly as one planned. His plan to try and get the door open was pretty much thwarted that day. Most of the day he could hear footsteps above. The door opened around eight and as Charlie carefully peeked out of his room, he saw Ben entering Caleb's room. He didn't stay long, most likely just dropped something off, Charlie realized when he saw Ben's pocket less packed upon exit.

Charlie really hoped his suspicions weren't based on truth, though he knew it was a small chance.

Ben seemed to be heading back up the stairs when Charlie opened his door fully and stepped out.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Ben stopped and turned, eyebrows raised as if to say 'You already did'. Still, he gave a short nod.

"Why the hell are you keeping that kid here?" Charlie asked, trying not to show how angry he was but most likely failing.

Ben sighed.

"Trust me, Caleb hasn't been a kid for quite some time."

Charlie frowned.

"Well, he sure as hell looks like one."

Ben shrugged.

"Looks can be deceiving. And if I were you... I'd be careful around him."

That was maybe the third time Charlie heard that warning. It didn't sit well with him.

"Why?"

Ben gave him a look, as if considering whether he should even bother to answer. In the end he just shrugged.

"Short fuse, is all. But if you want to get into a beef with him, be my guest. Try to keep the bloodshed to the kitchen though. I hate to clean blood from the carpet."

Charlie rolled his eyes. So much for Ben being the most sane of them all.

"Any other questions?"

"Yeah. When can I leave this fine establishment?"

Ben chuckled.

"Soon mate, soon. Next fight is in two days."

Well, that was more information than Charlie expected to get. Two days. Plenty of time to figure out a way to contact Johnson.

That was what he thought as Ben left him alone in the hallway. It was few hours later when Charlie slowly sneaked up the stairs and settled at the door. He had no light, nothing to lead him really. The only source of light he allowed for himself was to turn on the light in the bathroom and leave the door open to a small slit, and that was only so he could find his room again. It didn't reach the bottom of the stairs, never mind the top.

He took a few minutes just kneeling there on the last step, ear pushed against the door. Listening.

It was midnight and he was hoping the house would be quiet. He was paying attention and couldn't hear any sounds for the last hour or so, either from Caleb's room or from upstairs. Though if anyone was on the first floor, Charlie wouldn't be able to tell. Trying to get out at this time was a risk, Charlie was acutely aware of that.

Several more minutes passed in silence and Charlie found the courage to try and work on the door. In the darkness and trying to make as little noise as possible it was a seemingly impossible task. He first had to feel blindly for the lock, then slowly insert one of the paper clips.

After some struggle he managed to insert the second one too and he just started to tinker with it, when he heard a slam of a door. Charlie froze. Was that a car engine? Did someone arrive or was Ben leaving?

He stopped what he was doing and just listened.

Voices.

Kenneth was back... and if the tone was any indication, he was drunk. Charlie cursed and quickly withdrew the paperclips. The last thing he wanted was to be caught by the man in such a position. He was sure a kick down the stairs would be the least of his worries.

Deciding that tonight it would be just too much of a risk, Charlie ventured back to his room and settled for the night. This time sleep didn't come so easily as the previous night. His thoughts were troubled by Caleb. His face turned into the faces of Charlie's younger brothers. He woke up several times to the terrible image of one of his brothers lost in some dirty alley, shooting up drugs. Lost and alone.

He wondered if there was a mother or a sibling looking for Caleb. He wondered when this case blew up if anyone would find out what went wrong.

* * *

Two days. Charlie was starting to suffer from cabin fever. He had yet to manage to open the damned door. If it wasn't Kenneth hanging around the house - and Charlie wondered if the man was actually living there - then it was Caleb, going to the bathroom or roaming the kitchen for a midnight snack. Charlie swore the boy was doing it just to piss him off, or trying to give him a heart attack. Twice Charlie heard movement from Caleb's room and just about managed to rush down the stairs to the bathroom himself. Third time he was already kneeling by the door when Caleb's door opened. Charlie froze in place. He managed to put the tools into his pocket at least, but there was no way he could pass by Caleb unnoticed. So he decided for the next best thing. He sat down on the top stair, leaning his back against the door, unmoving. If Caleb had asked, he would tell him he was listening, trying to figure a way out.

But Caleb didn't ask. It was already past midnight after all and the boy moved towards the kitchen in darkness, the only light coming from his room. Charlie had decided after the first night that it will be safer to try the lock in total darkness.

Charlie held his breath, not moving a muscle. He could hear the sound of the fridge opening then slamming shut. A minute later the sliver of light coming from Caleb's room vanished as the door closed.

Charlie let out a sigh, willing his heart to calm down.

It was ridiculous. Caleb should be trying to get out just as much as him, if not more. He was, after all, held like a prisoner too. Yet, the boy seemed strangely content.

Charlie had tried to talk to him several more times after their first meeting. Caleb wasn't much of a talker, but Charlie supposed he wouldn't be either, under circumstances. Still, he managed to get a few sentences out of him. He learned that Caleb was indeed nineteen years old. That it was Kenneth who grabbed him after a pub brawl. What took Charlie by surprise was the fact Caleb was taken in a different town, almost fifty kilometres away. Charlie didn't know if it was a pattern assuring that their fighters weren't known in the town, or if it was just a one off. If it was a pattern, that was a problem. It meant they had absolutely no idea how many people might've gone missing or become victims to this scheme.

When Charlie asked Caleb if he doesn't worry about his family missing him, Caleb grimaced.

"I have no family to miss. I spent the last year on the street. This," he waved around, "is a better home than I ever had."

And that concluded Charlie's attempt at getting Caleb's help with anything. The boy would rather fight in a ring, risking injury or death, over ending up on the street. Charlie couldn't even fault him for that really. What it meant though was the fact Caleb posed a threat. After all, if he was happy about this arrangement, he wouldn't want anyone to jeopardize it.

Charlie decided that maybe it would be better if he changed his plan.

According to Ben, the next fight was supposed to happen tonight. Maybe Charlie would get a chance to get to a phone, or at least get a better look at the house and their location during the transport. As long as he came out a winner, he was still on track with the plan. He wasn't sure what happened to losers and he didn't want to find out.


	6. 2nd Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whump parts start here. Please ignore any medical or other inaccuracies for the sake of fiction :D

It was the same place, the same gym. Charlie wondered if all the fights took place here how come Johnson didn't already have the address. He was pretty sure it wouldn't be so hard to figure it out.

He didn't have much time to ponder that question though. As soon as he was whisked inside the building from the car, he was pushed back into the now familiar locker room. This time however he didn't get much time to sit around or try to sneak out. Shortly after his arrival, Kenneth and Douglas entered the room.

Charlie haven't seen them through his whole stay at the house. He did hear Kenneth, but fortunately the man didn't deem it important to grace him with his presence. Charlie was grateful for that. Now seeing Douglas there as well made him slightly more apprehensive.

"Here is the star of our night," Douglas started and Charlie cringed at the jovialness of his tone. "Ready to kick some ass?"

"Do I have a choice?" Charlie grumbled.

"Not likely," Douglas said frankly. "Let's just say, if you don't win this one, getting a beating would be the least of your worries."

The threat was clear. Charlie didn't need to see the glint of excitement in Kenneth's eyes to know it would be him who would make sure no one ever found his body.

Satisfied that the message was received, Douglas nodded at Kenneth to help Charlie wrap his hands. Charlie couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling the white powder Kenneth dipped the bandages in might've been plaster.

Charlie wasn't sure how he felt about cheating... on the other hand, the bruise on his thigh was a stark reminder that the other side didn't fight fair either. Boots with steel tips shouldn't have been allowed in a ring either. Now he wondered if he would have to face someone similarly equipped. If so... he better try to keep his head intact.

Twenty minutes later, Charlie had his answer.

He and his opponent, a burly looking guy who was introduced as Igor the Mighty, had been circling each other for a while now. The crowd around was shouting for blood and Charlie caught sight of Kenneth. He had his teeth bared and his hand made a slashing movement.

Charlie's concentration wavered and his opponent decided to strike.

The punch almost did him in. Charlie felt the hard fist connect with his left temple, splitting skin. His brain seemed to explode and he fell to his knees. Something red was dripping down his eye, onto the floor.

The crowd cheered and booed.

Somewhere in the background Douglas gave a warning shout, urging Charlie to get the fuck up.

The referee knelt next to him and started counting.

Charlie shook his head.

The room spun, but he couldn't stay down.

There was no sign of Johnson or any kind of backup. Charlie didn't want to end up as worm food.

Cursing and fighting off the nausea and headache, Charlie made it up to his feet. For a fleeting second he wondered why the other guy haven't finished him off when he had a chance, but the man just looked bored. As if kicking him while down was below him.

The referee counted only to three and Charlie was already up. He was swaying a bit, but that might have actually been to his advantage.

Igor didn't wait for the referee to clear the spot. He moved past him, rushing at Charlie and pinning him against the ropes. Charlie grunted and wondered if puking on his opponent would count as a win. He doubted it.

The ropes were pressing hard against his back, and Igor used the closeness to give him a few punches in the stomach.

They hurt, but... after receiving the first hit, Charlie was sure the man was pulling his punches now.

After one of those, the man leaned in and hissed into Charlie's ear.

"Start fighting or we both fucking dead!"

Charlie almost thought he was just imagining it. But no. The man's eyes were giving him a warning.

The thought of the other guy being scared sent a rush of adrenaline pumping through his blood. He had to stop covering and do something.

The punches aiming at his midriff actually left the other guy vulnerable. There was no way for him to protect his head.

Charlie went with one of the punches, letting it push him against the rope. As the rope pushed back, he used the momentum. Head low, Charlie slammed the top of his skull into Igor's chin. He heard the man's teeth click, felt the throbbing of his own head escalate.

It was a dirty move, but it worked.

The man stumbled back, dazed. This time, Charlie didn't hesitate. He delivered two more quick punches to the head. He could feel the skin of his knuckles crack, but he kept on. Pushing his opponent to the corner.

For a moment, Charlie didn't know what he was doing. His mind went hazy and all he could focus on was the target in front of him.

It must've been a lucky punch, or the man had just decided they put up enough of a show. Charlie felt a stab of pain run up his fist as it connected one last time. The man staggered, his eyes rolling upwards as his whole body slumped to the ground.

Charlie stood there, trying to blink away the fog in front of his eyes. The referee was kneeling on the ground, counting. The crowd was shouting. All Charlie saw was the bloodied face below.

The referee counted to ten.

Igor didn't move, though he was at least breathing.

Charlie turned to the side, fell to his knees and promptly brought up his lunch.

He didn't know if he should blame the way his head was spinning or the feeling of disgust over what he had done.

Kenneth didn't seem to care. As soon as it was clear Charlie had won, Kenneth was by his side, half dragging him out of the ring. Douglas and Richard were somewhere in the crowd, possibly taking care of business. Charlie tried to look back towards the ring to see if his opponent was alright or not, but Kenneth had a steely hold of him, dragging and showing him out of the gym.

Charlie noticed the car and Ben behind the wheel. The fresh air hit him in the face and his brain seemed to restart a bit.

The fight was over. He did what he was supposed to do. Now... now he needed to think like a cop.

He let himself be pushed onto the back seat, swaying more than needed. His head was spinning, but he was acutely aware that he couldn't let himself black out.

"Man, you look like crap," Ben said with a whistle when he looked at him. Charlie only blinked. He saw Kenneth reaching for the blasted burlap sack. There was no way in hell though he was riding with that on his head.

Charlie shook his head, throwing the sack onto the seat next to him.

"No way," he grumbled, leaning his head against the window. The cold glass felt like balm against his skin.

"Put that on or I will tape it to your head till next week," Kenneth snapped, grabbing the sack and slamming it against Charlie's chest. Charlie winced but didn't move.

"And for fuck's sake, get away from the window. You're bleeding all over it!"

Charlie turned his head, only now noticing the red smear on the glass where his face was a moment ago. He couldn't care less really.

"You have three seconds!" Kenneth growled, reaching into the compartment for what Charlie assumed was duct tape.

Well, that wouldn't do him any good now.

"One. Two-" Before Kenneth reached three, Charlie threw him a glare. Or at least he tried. His eyes were having trouble focusing. He took the sack and pulled it over his head.

As long as his hands were free... he could work with that.

Ben started the engine and the car pulled out of the alley.

It took only a minute, maybe two.

The rocking motion of the car, combined with the dizziness he felt and the smell of blood permeating the inside of the sack, Charlie didn't even have to pretend to be sick.

He did wonder what was there to bring up anymore as he pulled the sack off and used it as a bucket instead.

"What the fuck?" Kenneth shouted.

"Uh, that's gross! Don't let it splash in my car!" Ben exclaimed, slowing down the car as Charlie heaved. He let out a groan, leaning forward in the seat. His head was throbbing in beat with his heart and being sick wasn't helping.

"Should I stop?" Ben asked, sounding unsure.

"No, just keep driving. I want to get this idiot to the house as soon as possible then get back to town and get my share before Rick takes off with it and drinks it all away."

Charlie wasn't paying that much attention to what was said, but he still caught the tone of annoyance in Kenneth's voice. Obviously not everything was working great in the partnership. Before he could rejoice about it though, Kenneth turned his attention back to him.

"Oh for God's sake, put that thing back on your head!"

Charlie barely raised his head to give Kenneth a look of utter disbelief. Then he gave a pitiful groan and buried his face back in the sack.

Kenneth looked away in disgust, rolling down the window on his side.

"Leave him be. It's not like he poses any danger to us," Ben muttered. "And I don't want to clean puke from my seats."

"Yeah, you're right. Not like he will be chatting with anyone anytime soon," Kenneth replied with a smirk.

Charlie swallowed a retort. He would've liked nothing better than to take the sack and throw the whole thing along with its nasty content over Kenneth's head, then punch him a few times for good measure.

A man could dream.

Instead he leaned back on his seat, his face pressed against the cold window. The air coming from Kenneth's window was refreshing.

Charlie closed his eyes to slits and pretended to be asleep. He was aware of the occasional scrutiny from both Kenneth and Ben in the rear-view mirror, but he also knew they could hardly see if his eyes were slightly open in the darkness of the car. So happened that Charlie got a chance to see where they were going. Even if he didn't know the town, he caught an occasional point that could help with their location. A name of a motel, a gas pump. A road sign indicating the closest highway as they left the town.

Now all he needed was to remember everything. Find a phone and get hold of Johnson.

All of that while feeling as if his brain wanted to crawl out of his skull.

Charlie wished more than ever to just crawl into his bed at Blake's house and not to emerge until next month.

As they arrived at the house, Charlie closed his eyes. When Kenneth harshly opened the door he was leaning against he almost plummeted down. He managed to right himself, the same couldn't be said about the sack. It rolled down from his lap and onto the ground next to the car. Mid air it managed to splash some of its content onto Kenneth's pants and shoes.

"Fucking hell!" Kenneth jumped back and despite knowing it would only get him harsher treatment, Charlie felt a tinge of satisfaction.

He was still trying to hide a loopy grin when Kenneth grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him out of the car. He did end up on the ground, crying out in pain as his head was jostled.

"Do you think it's funny Chuckles? Why don't you laugh about this!" Kenneth offered a swift kick to Charlie's side, which caused him to roll a few feet away. The world turned just a bit darker and Charlie gasped for breath. He saw the towering figure of Kenneth coming closer, ready for another hit. Charlie curled up instinctively.

"Hey, cut it out!" Ben shouted, pulling Kenneth back then leaning down next to Charlie. "Are you crazy? You want to kill him before the last fight?!"

Kenneth spat on the ground next to Charlie's head.

"As if I care!"

"Well, maybe you should. I sure as hell won't be the one trying to explain Doug his plans are toast."

Kenneth grumbled something under his breath. Ben obviously had enough.

"Here!" he tossed him the car keys. "Go and cool off. I'll get him inside myself. Safer that way."

Kenneth took the keys but stood in place, suddenly uncertain.

"I can handle myself," Ben grumbled, annoyed. Kenneth gave Charlie a glowering look, then with a nod turned on his heels and got back inside the car.

Charlie let out a relieved breath. Ben he could handle. Ben was alright.

Kenneth was sitting behind the wheel and watching them.

"Alright, let's get you inside, or he will never leave," Ben muttered and helped Charlie back to his feet. Once standing, Charlie had to lean against Ben's shoulder whether he liked or not. Everything was spinning. There went his plan on trying to sneak out. At the moment he wasn't sure if he could remember Blake's number, not to mention Johnson's.

Why did he even want to call? Blake was too far away to help. Though it would sure be nice if he could pop up and give him something for the pain.

Charlie found his thoughts were all over the place. So much so he didn't really notice Ben putting his arm around his back until he felt the sore hand land on the man's shoulder. Drunkenly they walked inside the house. Only once the front door had closed behind them did Charlie hear the roar of the engine and the car leaving.

The hallway was dark. Charlie's eyes were twitching around, looking for a phone. Or a bathroom. At this point he wasn't sure what had bigger priority. Maybe a bed would be good, yes. Lying down sounded like a plan.

"Hey man, you good?" Ben asked, then grunted as Charlie decided to lean the other way, making them both unbalanced.

"My head hurts," Charlie noted idly. "Can we call the Doc?" he asked, blinking.

Ben paused, as if thinking.

"Let's get you down to your room, then we will see," he said after a moment of deliberation. Charlie just nodded, the thought that maybe Blake would come filling him with relief.

The walk down the stairs seemed to be the most dangerous part of the night. Both Charlie and Ben were happy when they reached the landing intact. Well, Ben was happy. Charlie swayed on his feet, then his head turned towards the bathroom door. Without a word he pushed off Ben and headed there.

It took his stomach several minutes to calm down, though Charlie didn't understand what it was even complaining about. Not like there was anything to bring up anymore.

It was when he tried to splash some water on his face that he realized his hands were still wrapped in what felt like a cast by now. A rather dirty cast. Grimacing, he let the water soak into the material, hoping it would be easier to get off. The dripping of the blood into the sink was a bit more disconcerting.

"Damn..."

The look into the mirror didn't make matters better. Charlie felt woozy just from the sight. Admittedly, the wound on his head most likely wasn't as bad as it looked. But the dried up crusted blood covering half his face wasn't a nice picture.

"You alive in there?" Ben called out and Charlie was actually surprised the man didn't just open the door.

"Yeah," he said, then cleared his throat. He splashed more water on his face, ignoring the sting. The bathroom swirled and Charlie decided that everything could wait. Only thing that mattered right now was lying down.

The water most likely didn't help if the look on Ben's face was anything to go by. He grimaced.

"You look like you went through the ringer. Man, wish I had seen that fight."

Charlie passed the comment by and headed for his room. He noted Caleb peering out of his room, but as soon as their eyes met, the boy slipped back inside and closed the door.

Seeing the bed drove all the other thoughts out of his head. Charlie went straight for it.

"Hey, not so fast," Ben's hand on his arm stopped him. "I don't want to be cleaning blood off the mattress," he said and Charlie let out a groan as Ben pushed him towards the chair instead.

"What, are you a nurse now?" he grumbled, irritated. Ben chuckled.

"Hardly. I just don't want to deal with the mess later on. Okay, let's get these off your hands." he pointed to the soaked through bandages. Charlie just raised an eyebrow, which in hindsight wasn't too smart. He felt the wound on his split eyebrow start oozing again, messing up his vision.

"Yeah, that's just nasty man," Ben commented, bringing in a pair of big scissors, a couple of clean bandages and a bowl of water. He made quick work with cutting through the wrapping and it was obvious he had some experience.

"You do this often?" Charlie asked, cringing as he saw the mess of his knuckles. Ben shrugged, took one of Charlie's hands and dipped it in the water. Charlie hissed, realizing it wasn't just water but also some disinfectant.

"Got into plenty of fights as a kid," Ben muttered while he towelled the hand and quickly wrapped it in a fresh bandage. He didn't mess around, his movements quick and sure.

"Doc can take a look at it, but I don't think it's broken. You should be fine to use those for the next fight."

Charlie gritted his teeth. He didn't want to be in the next fight. Hell, he didn't want to be here either.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, while Ben pressed a gauze pad against his split eyebrow and pressed down. Charlie hissed.

"I told you. Don't want to have to clean that mattress."

Charlie wasn't sure if Ben was playing stupid on purpose or if he truly didn't understand the question. Or maybe Charlie didn't ask it clear enough. It was possible. He had a feeling that half the things coming out of his mouth weren't making sense.

"Why you helping them? Kenneth... the others."

Ben paused in his ministrations. His eyes turned cold.

"I owe him. I will _always_ owe him."

Charlie blinked.

What the hell did that mean?

He wanted to ask more, but... the next question got stuck somewhere on the back of his tongue. What was it? What did he want to know?

Charlie tried to shake off the fog that enveloped his brain, only to be scolded by Ben.

"Stop moving, I need to wrap this," he grumbled. Charlie went still. He might've been confused, but the irritated tone was clear.

"Here. You can clean the rest of it up yourself," Ben said, pushing a wet towel into Charlie's hands. Charlie just looked at it, not really sure what to do next. What was he supposed to clean?

"Can I lie down?" he asked, his words coming out slurred.

Ben's face softened.

"Damn it," he said, taking the towel out of his hands and swiping harshly at his face a few times.

"Here. Got to be enough."

Charlie cringed from the touch but it was over faster than his brain could work out he might protest.

"Bed's over there," Ben said, frustrated.

Charlie didn't ask for anything else. He stood up. Swayed. Took three steps, then landed on the mattress, face half buried in the pillow. For all he cared the whole world could go to hell.

* * *

If only it was that easy.

Someone was shaking his shoulder.

Charlie groaned, trying to ignore the intrusion. A hand grabbed his arm and unceremoniously pulled it off his face, letting the light hit him in the face.

"-the hell?" he grumbled, squinting upwards.

"He's alive. I don't know why you made such a fuss!"

Kenneth's voice rung out somewhere from the door.

Charlie swallowed down the sudden nausea. He wasn't going to puke, not again. His throat still burned from the last bout.

"Well, I couldn't wake him up. The Doc still needs to stitch him up. No one will bet on him if he looks like this." That was Ben. But his voice was also coming from a distance. Charlie frowned. Who the hell was sitting on the bed next to him, trying to pry his eyes open?

"Ugh!" Charlie croaked out as the person was successful and shone a light into his eyes.

"Stop twitching, or I'll tie you down," came the cold voice. As Charlie blinked away the colourful spots dancing in his vision, he could finally make out an unfamiliar face. It was a man in mid forties, dark, almost black hair. Clean shaven with a stern face.

Charlie didn't have a clue who the hell this was or what was going on. But the notion of being tied down made his blood go cold. He went still, for a moment just trying to make head and heels of his situation.

The man seemed satisfied with that. He gave a nod, then told him to sit up.

Charlie did, although he had to take a moment to still himself. He felt as if he was on a ship. If he looked at one set point, it held still, but everything around just... floated. He wished he could close his eyes and go back to sleep.

Obviously that wasn't in the plans.

The stranger grabbed his chin, moving his head this and that way.

"Hold still," was the only command he got.

"Who're you?" Charlie managed to ask, cringing when fingers pressed against his skull here and there looking for bumps. None of this was helping his headache, or even the nausea. Charlie tried to extricate his head from the grip, but all he got for his effort was a rougher treatment.

The man kept ignoring him and Kenneth scoffed in the background.

"I wouldn't bother with him, Doc."

' _Doc?'_

Charlie had trouble believing the man in front of him was a physician. There was no warmth, no compassion in his eyes. He reminded Charlie more of a butcher, looking at a piece of meat. A rotten one at that.

"You're bringing in worse and worse material," the 'doctor' scoffed, while he cut the bandage off of Charlie's head. Charlie gritted his teeth, glaring. The man didn't seem to care. One hand grabbed Charlie's chin, the other was checking the wound on his head.

Charlie hissed and tried to pull back as blunt fingers pinched the raw edges.

"Hold still!" the doctor hissed.

"Not a damn dog!" Charlie bit back angrily.

"No. A dog would listen at least," came the reply. Charlie entertained the thought of lashing out but discarded the notion. When the man let go off his face, the sudden freedom left Charlie swaying and blinking. He had to hold onto the edge of the mattress to stay upright. Damn.

"He's all wonky. Will he be able to go into the ring like this?" Ben asked, sounding worried. Probably the only one of the three in the room.

"When's the next fight?"

"In a week," Kenneth said gruffly.

The doctor shrugged.

"He's just concussed. Let him sleep it all off and if he doesn't die of a brain bleed, he should be fine. It's the last fight anyway."

Charlie wasn't sure he heard right. How could anyone talk so callously about another person? Right in front of them?

Kenneth seemed to be satisfied with the answer though.

"Good. So patch him up and let's go. I'd hate to lose any more time in here."

The doctor nodded.

"Ben, hand me my bag and come here. I might need you to hold him down."

Charlie's eyes widened. What the hell did he mean by that?

He learned soon enough. The doctor pulled out some disinfectant then a sewing kit. The thing Charlie didn't see anywhere though were any painkillers or numbing agent. The man was really about to sew his head close without even a glass of whiskey?

Ben must've came to the same conclusion. He gave Charlie a look of apology as he put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. As if saying 'You better hold still'.

Charlie did. At least while the man disinfected the wound. He cringed through it, but didn't make a sound.

Holding back a hiss of pain was much harder when he felt the curved needle pierce the skin, the line tugging at the wound painfully. Ben's hand gripped his shoulder tighter.

Charlie closed his eyes.

Not because it helped with the pain. He just couldn't bear the look of satisfaction plainly visible on the doctor's face every time Charlie cringed or grimaced.

The man was a sadistic bastard.

When he was finished, Charlie felt sweat running down his back.

"Anything else the trouble?" the man asked with a smirk on his face.

Charlie quickly shook his head.

He wouldn't admit to anything in front of this guy, even if it meant bleeding out. He knew he might've had some bruised ribs. His stomach and sides had to be playing in all colours of the rainbow and he was pretty sure there was a cracked bone in his left hand. He most definitely didn't need the man poking at it though.

"Well then, I'll take you up on the offer for a drink, Kenneth," the man said, packing up his bag. Without another look at Charlie, he headed for the door, pausing by Ben.

"Wake him up a few times. If he starts spouting nonsense or keeps puking for the next day, give me a call. Otherwise, I'll stop by the day of the fight, as usual."

Ben gave a nod and a sigh. Charlie had a feeling he already regretted calling the man. He couldn't blame him for that.

Charlie waited until everyone left the room. Then he let out a sigh and slunk back into the bed. His head was throbbing something fierce but he didn't dare ask for a painkiller. He was pretty sure the men would've just laughed him off.

It was better to be left alone. Now only if someone had the sense to turn off the damn light so he could try to get back to sleep and forget this happened.

Charlie was just making up the nerve to try and get vertical again, when the door opened. He went still, praying it wasn't the 'doctor' coming to torture him a bit more.

It was only Ben.

"Here. Some water and aspirin. Not sure it will help, but..." Ben shrugged.

Charlie gave a noncommittal grunt. Ben must've taken it as dismissal.

"Ben?" Charlie called out, cringing at the loudness of his own voice. Ben turned around.

"Yeah?"

"Don't... don't call that guy again. Even if I'm dying."

Ben chuckled.

"What, you didn't enjoy his bedside manners?"

Charlie didn't have enough energy to explain Ben just how much he hated it. So he settled for curling his hand into a fist and giving Ben the finger.

He heard the answering chuckle and felt his heartbeat start to settle down.

"Lights off?" he muttered.

"Sure." Ben turned off the lights and the room fell into the cover of darkness. Charlie let out a breath of relief. Now only if he could get the doc's words out of his mind.

Next week. He had seven days to get himself together and call Johnson. Should be a piece of cake.

If the room ever stopped spinning and he managed to find a phone.


	7. The Talk

His brain didn't leak through his ears. That was something, Charlie supposed. Three days. He had spent over three days doing nothing else but sleeping, feeling sick and fighting off a migraine. He didn't really remember the first day and probably wouldn't even have known it was over if not for Caleb's comment about sleeping through the whole day the next morning. It wasn't like there were any windows after all, so Charlie's sleep schedule was all thrown out the window.

On third day, he was finally starting to feel half human. No more dizziness and even the headache had turned into dull throbbing that was easy to ignore. What was impossible to ignore though was the feeling of impending doom.

When Johnson and Charlie had spoken about the fights, they had their suspicions. Several people went missing after all, with a few turning up dead. Still, Charlie went into it with the hope that it might be all explained. Maybe once the fights were done the people decide to leave the town, not wanting to have anything to do with it anymore. Some might've been hurt during the fight. Things could have gone wrong very easily, Charlie knew. He had seen several boxing matches which turned lethal, despite strict rules and immediate medical help.

However, his experiences ever since Kenneth brought him into this house belayed that belief.

Charlie had seen how lax Kenneth or the others were about the safety of their chosen fighter. He might've ignored that, perhaps thinking it was just Kenneth and his sadistic streak. But after the treatment he got from the so called doctor... Charlie couldn't fool himself anymore. The man didn't care, at all. And his words heavily implied that after the third fight there will be no need for Charlie to worry about any brain damage.

As if it wasn't enough proof, the way Ben was behaving did the rest of convincing.

While Charlie wasn't deluding himself, he knew that Ben wasn't really his friend, the man at least had the decency to treat him as a human being. And since the night after the second fight, Charlie could see regret in his eyes every time he stopped by. He wondered how long it would take him to stop coming altogether.

So far though, he was in luck.

It was around noon, time for lunch. Caleb was most likely still sleeping. Charlie had noticed the kid liked to stay awake late and then sleep through half the day, or at least he hoped he was sleeping. He didn't know why else there would be total silence coming from the room and no sign of Caleb.

That meant Charlie had the place to himself. He had already taken a shower, relishing the hot water and the fact he was able to stand without needing to lean against the stall drunkenly. He was careful of washing his hair, last thing he wanted was to mess up the wound on his head. Just the thought of ever again meeting that doctor sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine.

Charlie wondered if the man truly worked with living people. Maybe he was a pathologist working on dead bodies? God, Charlie hoped so. He couldn't imagine approaching the man in time of need and seeing that look of utter disdain on his face. Hell, Charlie was feeling bad even for the dead if they had to put up with the man.

His stomach growled and it reminded him that he haven't had a good meal in days. The last two he was living on whatever sandwich could be easily prepared. Today he was hunkering for something more filling. He had a feeling he would need the energy later.

Looking through the small pantry the kitchen was equipped with, all he could come up with were eggs. Lots of eggs and some ham. Oh well. An omelette it was then.

Charlie leaned down a bit, looking for onions. He hissed, his side and chest reminding him of the hits he acquired during the fight, of all the bruises still littering his body.

Moving much more carefully, he grabbed the onions and stood up. Now cleaning and chopping the things would be another challenge. Ever since the fight, his left hand felt wrong. The knuckles were red and raw, stinging and pulling whenever he turned his hand into a fist. What was worse though was the pain shooting up to his arm from behind the knuckle of his middle finger. He could see slight swelling and holding a knife was pretty much impossible at this point. Any precision and force from his left hand was gone, which was quite a problem, seeing as he was left handed.

He was pretty sure he could have used some help, but hell would freeze over before he asked anyone inside this house. Wrapping the hand and icing it from time to time seemed to at least alleviate the pain.

With a sigh, Charlie took hold of the knife and proceeded with the very slow task of chopping the onion with his non-dominant hand. He was almost done with that when he heard footsteps above. Shortly after the upstairs door opened and he could see Ben walking down the stairs.

It wasn't the first time he thought about overpowering the man, then roaming through the house. It would have been the logical thing to do... if he hadn't been a cop trying to get down a bunch of other dirty cops. He had to stay and he couldn't really afford to escape. So far he didn't have enough information about the operation. It would all be mostly his words against Kenneth, Douglas and Richard. Seeing how much pull they had in the town, how deep their connections went... Charlie was starting to doubt he and Johnson could even take them down if they weren't caught red handed. That meant... Charlie had to stay and pray that he could get a word out to Johnson in time.

But... that was hardly something Ben knew. Still, the man didn't seem afraid for his own safety. Wasn't worried about Charlie or Caleb trying to escape and Charlie had to wonder why that was. Did he truly look so unthreatening to Ben? Or was it something else?

When Ben saw Charlie in the kitchen, there was a smile on his face.

"You're up and about," he said, looking almost relieved.

Charlie couldn't help it, he had to ask.

"Why do you even care?"

He realized it came out harsh, but Ben didn't seem offended at all. He just shrugged and put down a bag with some groceries.

"Is there enough for two? I had missed breakfast."

Charlie paused with the knife in the air, the look of disbelief clear on his face.

"Are you serious?"

"Well, I am hungry, and you seem to know what you're doing."

Charlie blinked and wondered if the concussion wasn't more serious than he thought. Surely the man that was helping to hold him as prisoner didn't ask him to cook?

But Ben stood there and his stomach gave a hungry growl.

Charlie snorted, shook his head. Then he pulled out a pan and tossed the onions on to fry, along with some ham.

"You do realize I have a knife here?" Charlie couldn't help the question, even as Ben settled down at the table.

"So? You didn't try to kill me the first week, I doubt you would try now."

"No, but I could." As if to prove a point, Charlie took the knife in his right hand and moved, leaning into Ben's personal space. The knife was slightly shaking in his hand, but the edge was still pressed against Ben's neck.

For a moment, they stared at each other, unmoving.

"Let me out," Charlie hissed.

The onions sizzled and Ben swallowed.

"Careful, don't burn it."

Charlie frowned, jaw tightening. He saw a sheen of nervous sweat popping up on Ben's forehead, but the man didn't move a muscle to protect himself. Though the look in his eyes was steady, almost daring.

"Do you really think there are no safety measures in place?" Ben spoke, voice only slightly trembling.

Charlie inclined his head.

"What measures?"

Ben raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smile.

"You really think I will tell you?"

"I do have a knife to your throat."

"Yes, and you should be using it better. You are burning our breakfast," Ben pointed out somehow cheekily.

Charlie sighed. Who was he kidding. He couldn't hurt this guy. He did wonder though what safety measures he meant. Was there someone else upstairs? He didn't hear any voices, but that hardly meant anything. If someone was up on the first floor, Charlie would be none the wiser. There could be traps, or it could just be Ben trying to save his hide.

He pulled the knife away and took a few steps back. He wondered if there would be a backlash, a punishment. But Ben just let out a sigh and straightened, running a hand over his neck where the knife left a slight dent in the skin.

"Even if you managed to get out of the house... where would you go really?"

This time it was Charlie who shrugged.

"Wherever. Out of town."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"This house is miles from the nearest farm. No woods around to hide in. They would find you within an hour. And if you were lucky enough... they have your ID. Friends in the nearest towns. You wouldn't get too far before some copper would shoot you on a made up charge."

"So what... what happens to me once the fight is over?" Charlie asked, not even trying to hide his anger. He realized how screwed anyone who got caught in this situation truly was. How inescapable it looked.

For the first time, Ben's eyes didn't meet his.

Charlie nodded, wanted to say he understood. Wanted to call Ben a hypocrite and a bloody bastard. But then he caught the look of distress on his face, the uncertainty.

"Look, I don't know. I swear. No one returns after the third fight, but... that doesn't mean a thing. Kenneth said they just... drop whomever off in the next town, with a few bucks from the fight if they won."

"Even you don't believe that bullshit," Charlie snorted, then turned back towards the pan. He had lost his appetite, but he also wasn't willing to throw out food. So he cracked a few eggs, cursing as an eggshell dropped into the mix. For a moment there was silence as he hunted for it with a spoon.

"I don't have much choice," Ben said, deflated. Charlie might've felt sorry for him if not for the fact he knew what was in the plans for him.

"Bullshit. Everyone has a choice."

Ben didn't speak. Charlie shot him a look, but the man was staring off into the distance.

"What about Caleb?"

That brought Ben back to the present.

"What about him?"

"He's just a kid. Why the hell would you be holding him here?"

Ben shook his head.

"Leave it be, Charlie."

Charlie slammed a hand against the counter and spun around.

"The hell I will! Why is he here? How _long_ is he here?"

For the first time, Ben's eyes turned cold and Charlie realized danger lie that way. Still, he was too pissed to let the topic slide.

" _That_ is none of your business."

Charlie glared at Ben.

"Are you using him for fights too?"

Ben stayed silent and that more than anything answered Charlie's question. Fuming, he turned back towards the stove. He couldn't hide his disgust and he didn't want to.

Behind him, Ben sighed.

"Look..." Charlie's back tensed. "It might not seem so, but... Caleb is better off here than he was out on the streets. We are taking care of him and he's... happy."

"Of course he is happy. He's a junkie and you are providing him his drugs!" Charlie hissed, stirring the eggs with anger.

"To be fair... we _are_ trying to slowly wean him off. At least the Doc is."

Charlie turned to look at Ben, truly confused.

"Why? What is so special about Caleb that you dragged him into this situation?"

Ben looked like he was starting to regret his decision to stay for food.

"Just drop it, alright? The kid can take care of himself, probably better than you. He doesn't _want_ to leave. Ask him if you want, but stop pestering me."

"Well, I am not keeping _you_ down here," Charlie bit back as he turned off the stove.

Ben threw a longing look at the eggs, his stomach giving another grumble.

Charlie didn't know if he should roll his eyes in exasperation or throw the whole pan at Ben's head.

He divided the food onto two plates instead.

"Thanks," Ben's eyes glinted and he practically inhaled the food before Charlie took more than few bites.

"Are they keeping you starving?" Charlie wondered out loud. Ben chuckled and shook his head.

"Nah. But our stove broke and I haven't had a warm meal for the last two days."

"Poor you," Charlie rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to take a look at it?" he offered, sensing an opportunity.

Ben snorted.

"What, and risk you causing a gas leak? Not a chance. Kenneth will bring someone to fix it soon."

Charlie shrugged. He could hardly care less whether 'Kenneth' got some warm food. Though he perked up at the idea of someone else coming to the house. Maybe he could use the situation to his advantage somehow...

Or maybe he could use the fact Ben seemed to enjoy his cooking. Now was there something that would work as an anaesthetic? Something that might put Ben to sleep perhaps...

Damn, Charlie could use Blake's brain just about now. After algebra, chemistry was his second least favourite subject in school. Oh well... back to his original plan.

"How's the head?" Ben asked while Charlie was finishing up with his plate. Charlie swallowed the bite, then shrugged.

"Not too bad."

"Anything you need? While I am around."

Charlie's eyes slipped down to his left hand.

"Maybe some painkillers? I think I busted it," he admitted.

Ben frowned.

"Is it broken?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Don't know. But if you call back that son of a bitch doctor, something definitely _will_ be broken," he warned and meant it.

Ben chuckled, raising his hands in surrender.

"Chill, man. I don't want to call him either. Not fancying another chewing out for being a softie."

Charlie wondered if he really did get a chewing out or if it was just for show.

"I'll try to score you something tomorrow, alright?"

Charlie nodded.

"Thanks."

Depending on what Ben brought him, he might succeed even without the expert advice of one Lucien Blake.

Charlie haven't seen anyone else for the rest of the day. Caleb must've sneaked out to the bathroom during one of Charlie's short naps. While the concussion was slowly getting better, he still had moments when lying down sounded like the best solution.

Not like there was much else to do anyway. Charlie was hardly in a condition to exercise. Reading anything longer than few minutes made the letters go all haywire and worsen his headache. And the sound of movement from upstairs let him know the house wasn't empty either.

Sleep it was then, especially seeing how he planned on trying the lock later that night.

Trouble was, the short naps kept being interrupted by nightmares. Charlie couldn't stop seeing his kid brothers, locked up in a cell or lying on the street with a needle in the arm. He always woke up covered in cold sweat.

Ben's assurance that Caleb was okay with his situation and that they were actually trying to help did nothing to dissuade Charlie's concern and inner demons. He _knew_ Caleb was technically an adult. But all he saw was Ray, turned twenty, looking utterly helpless as he was confronted with the fact he might've just killed a man during his boxing match.

Caleb might've been a stranger, but Charlie knew he needed help.

Unfortunately, trying to convince him about it would be a much more difficult task. And it had to wait until the next day most likely, seeing as Charlie didn't catch sight of the boy.

It was now past one in the morning. The whole house was silent.

Charlie grabbed the home made lock pins and silently sneaked out of his room. By now he didn't even need to turn on the lights. He knew the layout, had walked it several dozen times in the last week. He was glad the stairs didn't creak, though he did cringe as his knee popped when he scooted down next to the door.

It took him a moment to get a good hold of the tools. His right hand was naturally more clumsy and his left was sore. Charlie tried for a bit, but quickly realized that precision at this moment was difficult.

Cursing under his breath, Charlie took a pause, flexing his fingers then cringing. He wondered what were his chances during the last fight with an already sore hand. He doubted it would magically fix itself within the next three or four days. Though if they decided to help him out a bit with adding gypsum to the wrapping, he might have a chance.

With a sigh, he resumed trying to work on the lock. The lock pins had slipped out of his fingers several times. There was a moment when he thought he heard a slight click and he froze. Could it be?

Unfortunately, before he could actually finish the movement, his hold slipped a bit. One of the pins stayed in the lock, while the other clattered to the floor.

The sound seemed louder than a gunshot for Charlie and he held his breath for a long moment. Logically, he knew no one could really hear something so small. That didn't slow down his heartbeat however. Shaking his head, he decided to give up for the night. Not like he could just waltz through the house as he pleased and use the phone right now anyway. He needed to make sure Ben would be out of the house or at least truly asleep.

He was disheartened by the fact something as simple as unlocking a door was taking him such a long time. The Doc would have it open in a jiffy, what with his surgeon precise hands. But Charlie wasn't Blake, he reminded himself as he pulled the pin from the door, then started blindly running his hands on the floor, trying to locate the second one in the total darkness.

It took him another moment, but Charlie wasn't about to give up on this. He couldn't afford for Ben or god forbid _Kenneth_ to find it and realize he was indeed trying to get out. He was pretty sure he wouldn't enjoy the consequences of that.

Finally, he got a hold of the damned pin. Tired and frustrated, Charlie made his way back to the room. Another fruitless night.

* * *

It seemed that food was the key. Charlie would've laughed, if he wasn't too busy trying not to burn the slab of meat currently frying on the pan.

Ben had stopped by as promised, with a bottle of pills. Charlie glanced at it, looking for the label but finding nothing.

"What's this? Aspirin or paracetamol?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I have no clue. The Doc gave it to me last time I pulled some muscles in my back. Works like magic though. As long as you don't overdo it."

"Thanks," Charlie said, genuinely thankful for once, as he pocketed the bottle. It might serve both his purposes. Ben shrugged it off, looking hopefully at the pan.

"Think I can get a bite?"

Charlie laughed. He was actually counting on it, having prepared enough for several people.

"Sure. Grab a plate."

Ben did and this time they ate mostly in silence. Charlie asked about the weather and what date it was, but that was about it. He didn't want to bother Ben with questions this time. He had a different goal.

Sometimes during the third bite, he noted the door on Caleb's room opening to a slit. Charlie was facing it, while Ben had his back towards it and haven't noticed. The door lingered open for about a minute, then slowly closed. Caleb obviously didn't want company. But Charlie was sure the smell of freshly fried meat would lure him out sooner or later.

All he needed was to set a plate aside for the kid and wait.

Once Ben returned upstairs, leaving Charlie with some trashy novels to read, it was a question of minutes. Charlie made sure he pulled his chair to the side, out of Caleb's line of vision. He also put the plate in clear view.

He opened the novel and let his eyes roam the pages, even though his mind was miles away.

When Caleb spotted him, it was a bit too late for him to turn back. Not that he would. The kid looked positively salivating at the sight of the steak. Charlie looked up from his novel as if this was the most normal occurrence and gave him a nod.

"Hi," he said as Caleb stood in the doorway, unnaturally sheepish. "Left you a plate over there," Charlie added a bit unnecessarily.

Caleb shot him a look of suspicion, then grabbed the plate.

To Charlie's joy, he didn't abscond to his room with it, instead settled down at the table. That was progress. Noting that Caleb's hands weren't shaking as he was taking a bite, and there was no nervous tapping of the foot either, Charlie assumed that the kid must've gotten his required dose. Or not. Maybe Ben was right and they were weaning him off whatever stuff he was addicted to.

"Good stuff," Caleb muttered after the second bite.

"Thanks. Mum's old recipe," Charlie said with a slight smile. Caleb shot him a weird look.

"You enjoy cooking?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Sure. Why not?"

Caleb rolled his eyes.

"That's a woman's job."

Charlie stopped pretending he was interested in the novel and put it aside.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"What?"

"Why is it a woman's job? Why can't a man enjoy cooking?"

The simple question seemed to stun Caleb.

"Uh... dunno. It just is."

Charlie gave him a look.

"Where did you get that stupid idea from?"

Caleb's shoulders tensed.

"My old man. He liked to say that. Along with other stuff."

Charlie frowned. He wondered what that other stuff was and whether it was just words leaving the man's mouth. He knew the type... arrested a few of them too. Usually it didn't end only with words.

"And where is your father now?"

Caleb looked up at Charlie and without much emotion said: "Dead."

Charlie didn't know what to say. Sorry somehow didn't seem appropriate. Caleb sensed that. He shrugged.

"Good riddance. Pity the next guy my mother married was just as much of an asshole."

Charlie felt his gut tighten.

"That's why you ended up on the street?"

Caleb didn't speak for a moment. He focused on the food, stabbing the steak with much more force than needed.

"What's this... twenty questions?" he bit back after a while, still not looking Charlie in the eyes.

"No. Just normal conversation."

"Why do you even care?"

"Because I don't think you should be here."

Caleb let out a laugh that was anything but jolly. Charlie internally winced at the sound.

"Pray tell, where else should I be? Back on the street?"

Charlie shook his head.

"No. Somewhere safe. Studying... or working. Anywhere but here."

Caleb put down his fork and knife and leaned back in the chair, giving Charlie a glare.

"School is for pansies. And who do you think would give me a job? Last time I checked homeless bums weren't in high demand."

"Come on, there are places that could help you. Charities, or shelters. There are people who would offer you roof and food in exchange for work."

Caleb just rolled his eyes, looking like he was letting everything pass him by. It was clear he didn't believe him and that he was ready to get up and hide in his room. Charlie didn't want to let that happen. He leaned closer.

"Caleb... is this really what you want to do? Be held prisoner and only occasionally allowed out to fight for the amusement of some sick people?"

Caleb tensed.

"You are the one talking," he spat. "Lost a fight lately?" he asked with a smirk. It was obvious he was trying to throw Charlie off.

"I won actually, not that I am proud about that," he added.

Caleb didn't look very convinced.

"You don't look like much of a winner."

Charlie sighed, then crossed his arms, forcing back the wince as it jarred his hand. Now was not the time to appear any weaker than he already did.

"Well, how many fights have _you_ won? Or fought for that matter?"

Caleb bit down on his lip and looked away.

Charlie instantly regretted the question, though that didn't change the fact he wanted to know the answer.

"Once. I only fought once," Caleb muttered.

Charlie felt some relief at that, as well as confusion. He knew Caleb had been there for about two months. To keep him for such a long time without using him for fights, not to mention keeping his addiction in some semblance of order, didn't make any sense.

"Have you won?" Charlie asked, more absentmindedly than anything.

"Of course," Caleb scoffed at that. "I'm here, ain't I?"

Charlie blinked at that answer. Did it mean...

"Did you..."

Caleb gritted his teeth, his glare daring Charlie to finish that question.

Charlie didn't.

The tightness in his gut just grew stronger.

"I can help you get out, Caleb."

Caleb shook his head.

"For the last time... I don't need your help. I'm fine where I am."

"But-"

"But what? What do you think is out there? I am nothing... nobody out there! Here at least I have a roof over my head. If I win, people cheer. There's nothing waiting for me outside!"

"Caleb-"

"No! I'm done talking. And if you know what's best for you, you will stop talking too!"

With that, Caleb stormed off, slamming the door of his room. Charlie was left in the kitchen, wondering how the hell can he fix this.


	8. The Phone

The pills. He was looking at the bottle of pills, grimacing. Charlie had no clue what the stuff did, whether it would put someone to sleep or kill them if he used too much. He wished he could call the Doc and ask, but that was exactly the problem. He needed to get to the phone, if possible, undetected.

It was late. The house was once again silent. He tried to squeeze his left hand into a fist, but it sent a stabbing pain up to his forearm. Cursing, Charlie popped the bottle open. He wasn't willing to overdose Ben even by accident. He asked for a painkiller not a sedative, so that's probably what he got.

Shaking the bottle, he grabbed one of the pills and swallowed it. One pill shouldn't do all that much. Either it would put him to sleep or help with the pain. He might still use it to his advantage somehow.

Charlie sat down on the bed and leaned his back against the wall, grabbing a novel. He would wait and see. Even if he fell asleep, he still had two days to get to the phone.

He had managed to read over three chapters when he yawned and raised his hand to cover his mouth.

Charlie blinked. He was sleepy, but hardly in that drugged sort of way. It was after all around midnight and he still had the lagging effects of the concussion to deal with. What he did notice though, was that his hand hurt less. He still winced when making a fist, but the pain wasn't as bad. The headache was pushed into the background as well.

Charlie put the novel down. Maybe he won't be able to use this to drug Ben, but what he could do was take advantage of being relatively pain free and get some much needed sleep.

The next day, Charlie woke feeling refreshed. He had slept through the night for the first time in a week. True, it might've been more out of exhaustion than the pills, but he wasn't about to complain. He made himself a breakfast, almost cheery. He could do this.

Caleb came out once or twice, but he ignored Charlie and any attempt at conversation. Ben only stopped by once to check if they were alive and then he rushed out, obviously busy with something. Charlie noted he seemed irritated and snappy and wondered if something went wrong or if it was the stress of the oncoming fight. Though why would that make Ben nervous Charlie didn't know.

He shrugged it off. Not like he could do anything about it. Ben had ran up the stairs and slammed the door shut before Charlie could so much as open his mouth.

The day seemed to pass by excruciatingly slowly. By late afternoon, Charlie felt almost as cranky and irritated as Ben. He wished to move, to do something, but the time wasn't right. He settled down at the bottom of the stairs with the book, but he wasn't reading. He was listening.

He counted at least three different voices but no one came down the stairs. There was no screaming, only talking, an occasional curse escaping one of the men louder and allowing Charlie to identify the men as Kenneth and Douglas. It was past nine in the evening when Charlie heard the footsteps retreating, then a slam of the door.

Charlie sat there for quite a long while. He had settled down at the top of the stairs, head leaning back against the door. Listening.

Hearing absolutely nothing.

Maybe this was it.

Charlie rushed down the stairs into his room, grabbing the lock pins. He paused when he spotted the bottle with pills. He wasn't sure what was going to happen, and he knew it would take a bit for them to start working, but he supposed getting around more easily wouldn't hurt. He swallowed one pill dry and headed back upstairs.

He hoped that Caleb's self imposed prison would last through the night. Last thing he needed was for him to appear when he was trying to get out. He might just as well decide to turn on Charlie if he thought he was endangering his living situation.

Tiptoeing across the hall, Charlie was back up at the door in a bit.

He took a few more minutes to listen, wanting to make sure that the house was empty and the guys haven't returned during his absence.

The coast seemed clear.

Now he only needed a bit of luck... and maybe for the damn pill to start working faster.

He fumbled with his left hand. The lock pins fell clumsily to the floor twice, before he managed a semi-good grip. He still had to grit his teeth as his hand protested all the way. But he decided this was no time to wimp out. In two days he would be taken for his third, and admittedly last fight. He wasn't sure if the fight was one for life, but he sure as hell knew that Kenneth wouldn't let him go free even if he won.

His only chance now was to get hold of Johnson... or run away.

Something clicked.

Charlie froze, sure he had just imagined the sound.

Nope.

His left hand was trembling as he tried to hold the lock pins in place, while also turning the knob.

It worked.

Charlie couldn't believe it. He managed to open the damn lock while his mind was about a mile away. He wanted to cheer, but knew there was no time. This was only the first step. There were so many more separating him from success.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door slowly open. The hall was dark. It was night after all.

The door creaked just a little and Charlie paused, trying not to even breathe. Nothing moved.

Letting out the breath, Charlie pushed past the door, then quietly closed it. He didn't want Caleb to notice the open door, or Ben to see it in case he came home anytime soon. Every second could count in Charlie's favour.

Now came the second step. He had to find the phone in the house flooded in darkness.

Charlie knew from earlier where the light switches were, but he didn't dare to turn them on. He didn't know where was Ben and he didn't want anyone to see the lights in the window. Which meant he had to go blindly.

Charlie allowed his sight to adjust to the darkness. At least the moon was up and the curtains on the windows were pulled open, letting in some light. When he was first brought in, he hadn't seen a phone or even a phone line on his way to the basement. Still, he had to check the kitchen and living room.

There had to be a phone after all. Ben had called the doctor that one time. Charlie was pretty sure he haven't left the house to make the call, though maybe that was just wistful thinking on his part.

As he was slowly making his way through the kitchen, Charlie began to feel nervous. What if there was no phone? What was he supposed to do then?

He could still run, but that would mean the last week and a half was just a loss of time. Not to mention it would mean leaving Caleb. Charlie doubted he would manage to convince the boy to come with him before Ben's return.

The doubt was eating heavily at his stomach, but Charlie tried to ignore it.

' _Focus, Davis. And stop panicking!'_ Lawson's voice rang in his head.

Charlie headed for the living room, cursing as he stumbled into a small table on the way there. The room was rather well lit by the moonlight but Charlie couldn't see any phone.

Made sense.

Whatever ringing he heard, it sounded very muffled. Which meant, if there was a phone, it was most likely upstairs.

Charlie cursed. He should have thought about it sooner, instead of losing time.

With a new verve, he headed upstairs. This time the stairs creaked and he cringed at every sound, hoping fervently that his assumption about the house being empty was correct. Otherwise he would be in big trouble.

Navigating the upstairs was even more complicated. There were five different doors, all closed. The moonlight came from one lonely window at the end of the hall. Charlie looked around, hoping to find the phone on a small table in the hall, as it was in Blake's house.

No such luck.

Feeling his hopes falling, Charlie started the scrupulous work of room to room search. He had quickly eliminated two doors as they led to the toilet and bathroom. That left... three more, he noted with disdain.

The first one led to a bedroom. The bed was unmade, there were clothes lying haphazardly on the floor as Charlie found out when his foot got caught on some pants. Stumbling, as quickly as he could, Charlie walked the room's perimeter with one hand on the wall. No phone.

Second room was also a bedroom. This one either belonged to someone much more tidy or it wasn't used lately. The floor was clean and the bed seemed to be made. No phone there either.

Charlie's stomach felt like lead now.

How much time had passed already?

At least half an hour since he took the pill, he could tell. His hand hurt less, though his heart felt like jumping out of his chest. Where did Ben go? When was he planning to return?

Charlie wanted to look out the window, to check if there wasn't a car approaching, but he realized it would be a loss of time right now. If a car was coming, he would hear it.

Last room.

Charlie said a silent prayer as he opened the door.

The drapes in the room were closed, there was practically no light at all. Charlie was blind.

"Damn," he uttered, taking a step inside. The floor creaked. _'Double damn!'_

He closed the door behind him and paused. If the drapes were closed, he might chance turning on the light. At least for a second. He didn't hear any car approaching... it would be real bad luck if anyone saw him, right?

Coming to a decision, Charlie reached for the light switch on the wall.

Another curse left his lips as the light flooded the room.

His eyes shut and it took him few seconds of blinking and squinting to adjust to the light.

As soon as he did though, his heart jumped.

There, on the desk only a meter from him. A phone.

Charlie turned on the small desk lamp and quickly turned off the room light. That was better. All he needed was a bit of luck now. And to remember the correct number.

Charlie grimaced.

What was it? Two numbers... Johnson made him memorize two numbers. One for his desk at work and one for his home. It was night, Charlie assumed Johnson might be at home. He dearly hoped so. Otherwise he was screwed.

His fingers trembled as he dialled the number.

Then waited.

One ring.

Two rings.

Charlie swallowed, looking around the room. It was a small library slash office setup. One of the walls was covered in books. Charlie numbly tried to open the drawers of the desk, but they were all locked. Unsurprisingly. He might've tinkered with the lock, but that wasn't a priority now.

What mattered was that Johnson picked up the damn phone.

Charlie's hand clutched the receiver so hard, he was sure his fingerprints would be embedded in the plastic.

Third ring.

Charlie couldn't even breathe.

' _Come on! Pick up the damn phone!'_

What day was it? Maybe Johnson had a night shift? Should Charlie try the number at work? What if Kenneth picked up? He would be screwed.

There was a myriad of catastrophic scenarios rushing through Charlie's head. So much that he almost missed the click and the clearing of the throat.

"Hello?"

Charlie blinked. Then let out a rush of breath.

"Gary?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was a second of silence, then an equally relieved sounding: "Charlie? Bloody hell mate, I thought you were just about dead!"

Charlie wanted to laugh, feeling a surge of giddiness hit him.

"That's still a possibility," he said and his mode turned sombre with a snap of a finger.

"Let's hope not," Johnson conquered. "Where are you? What happened?"

"Listen, I don't know how much time I have. They left the house, but I don't know when they're coming back."

"House? Can you tell me where you are?"

This one was more tricky.

"A few kilometres outside of town. I don't know it around here, but... we took a right turn from St. Patrick road? Then it was about a ten minute drive."

Charlie could hear the scratching of a pen against paper and he hoped Johnson knew this town better than him.

"Anything else you can tell me? How big is the house? Who took you there?"

"Two storey house, quite big. It has a basement, that's where they keep us. Uh... Kenneth and Ben. I think this place belongs to Ben, but I can't be sure."

There was a pause.

"Ben? Who is Ben?"

Charlie frowned.

" _You_ don't know?"

"Sorry, I don't know everyone in town," Johnson said with only a hint of irritation.

"Well... you should know this guy. Kenneth spends a lot of time here. Ben looks just a bit younger. He was driving the car they put me in. A dark Chrysler Royal?"

"Ben..." Johnson seemed to be thinking, trying to remember something. "Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed and Charlie knew he just had a eureka moment.

"What?"

"I think I know who that is. Kenneth's half-brother. Of course, Kenneth only mentioned him once and called him Benjamin. I thought that was a nickname or something."

"Half-brother?" Well, that made some things clearer. Like Ben's reaction to Charlie's question about why he was doing all of this.

"Yeah. I don't know where he lives, but can find out the address in the morning I'm sure. If not, I'll just go by what you told me. There are not that many houses around that location."

Charlie nodded, even though Johnson couldn't see him.

"Can you tell me anything else, Charlie? You said they were holding you in the basement. Is there someone else too?"

"Yeah. There's a kid, Caleb. He's nineteen. Not from this town, I think they snatched him off the streets about two months ago. We need to help him, Gary."

If Charlie didn't manage to do anything else, he wanted to make sure Johnson knew about Caleb and helped him.

"If you raid this place, you need to know he's there and not to hurt him, okay?" He was aware his voice sounded pleading, but he didn't care.

"Alright, calm down. Will he be a problem if we go there?"

"He might be," Charlie said unwillingly. "He's... he's a kid, Gary. He needs help."

"Any idea why they are keeping him there?" he wondered, just as Charlie did before.

"They used him in one fight, nothing else."

"Alright. I will make sure our guys know about him. Now you... are you alright? Anything else you can tell me?"

Charlie gave Johnson a rather quick description of the first two fights, of the gym and the people he saw involved. He mentioned the doctor, and it seemed to catch Johnson's attention most.

"Can you tell me anything about him? I know they have a contact from the hospital, but we don't know who it is."

"I didn't catch any name," Charlie admitted sourly. "And the whole night was a blur for me," he said, remembering the confusion and headache. What he didn't forget was the cold, dead eyes.

"He had black eyes, dark hair. Cold look. And he was an asshole," he added and Johnson sighed.

"Unfortunately, that fits at least three doctors in the area that I know. Never mind, we will figure it out. As soon as you get out of there."

Charlie bit his lip.

"I don't think I can. Not yet."

"It's up to you."

"Do you have enough to take those bastards down?"

Johnson hesitated.

"Maybe to get them suspended. But right now... it would be your word against theirs. The best we can get is running an illegal betting circle and fight ring."

"They would get out within a day," Charlie muttered, knowing well that with their parents influence it would be barely a slap on the hand.

"When is the next fight happening?"

"Day after tomorrow," Charlie said. "I don't know where though or what time."

"Are you willing to stick around?"

"Will I have some backup?"

That was the main question.

"We will stake out the house... and I will put a tail on Kenneth. You said he is the one taking you to places. We should be able to locate you."

Charlie gave it a moment of thought.

Really, leaving now would be just useless.

"Alright. I'll... stick around," he said with a sigh. He wanted to say more, to ask Johnson about what was going on at the station. Did he have any information he could use? Who would be coming as backup? But he didn't get a chance.

There was the familiar rumble of the engine.

"Shit! I gotta go!" Charlie said, slamming the phone down and turning off the desk lamp.

His heart once again beat hard against his chest.

He had to go... get back to the basement, or he was screwed.

He stumbled towards the door, praying that he hadn't dislodged anything to give up his presence. He had to get downstairs. Even if he got caught, it had to look like he was trying to run away. There was no other option.

Charlie took the stairs by two and he just landed on the bottom, when he heard the front door open. No time and no chance to return to the basement. Maybe if he hid? But if they found him hiding they would figure out something was amiss. No, he had to at least attempt to get out of the house.

Swallowing down the sudden nausea, Charlie quickly made it across the hall. He could hear Ben and Kenneth. At least there was no one else. Maybe they would go right upstairs, giving him enough time to go back to the basement...

"Grab me some beer, will you?" Kenneth called out and was headed towards the bathroom. Charlie pressed himself against the wall behind the corner, barely breathing. That was good. Kenneth was out of the way for the moment. Trouble was, the door to the basement was clearly visible from the kitchen and except for the living room, Charlie had nowhere else to go.

Only outside.

The back exit was right there next to him.

But should he risk it? What if he actually managed to run away? It would screw up the operation most likely. But he couldn't stay there either. If Kenneth came out of the bathroom and headed for the living room, he would run into Charlie. Going upstairs was out of the question too.

Charlie cursed internally. He had to move. Maybe if he slipped outside, he could wait until Kenneth and Ben moved upstairs or settled in the living room. He might be able to return to the basement unnoticed, especially if they will be busy drinking beer.

Decision made and hearing the toilet flush, Charlie went for the back door. It was surprisingly unlocked and he felt a rush of hope as he stepped out.

First thing that hit him was the smell of fresh air. He haven't realized until now how stale the air inside the basement was. He took in a deep breath, looking around.

That's when he saw it.

The dark shadow.

It was moving towards him slowly.

Charlie frowned, taking a reflexive step backwards.

The shadow gave a guttural growl and Charlie saw sharp yellowed teeth glinting in the moonlight.

"Bloody hell!"

He couldn't help it. He stumbled backwards, hands reaching for the doorknob as the wolf like dog approached him. Charlie could now see it's raised heckles, the heavy chain being dragged behind with ease. He prayed that it was short and it wouldn't allow the beast onto the porch, but that was not the case.

The dog knew that.

Charlie knew that.

He much more preferred Kenneth's wrath than being mauled by the beast.

Charlie turned, ready to lunge through the door, when he felt the air move. Sharp teeth snapped at his leg, catching his pants and ripping off a bit. Charlie yelped, kicking back. His heel connected with something, but it didn't seem to deter the beast. Another attack followed and this time Charlie felt teeth pierce skin before he swiped at the dog, grabbing it's collar. He wasn't sure what possessed him, be it fear or anger, but he managed to show the dog off of him for long enough to make another attempt at escape.

The door was already open as Charlie stumbled through it.

Right into Kenneth's arms.

It wasn't a friendly hug.

"Fucking bastard!" Kenneth cursed, showing Charlie harshly to the floor. "Were you trying to run?!" he spat and before Charlie could protest or try to defend himself in any way, he got kicked in his side.

Charlie rolled across the floor, then promptly curled up. He knew he won't be able to get up fast enough to face Kenneth's wrath, so he had to at least try and protect himself as much as possible.

He received a few more kicks and curses but the onslaught was surprisingly short.

Ben was there, pulling Kenneth back.

"Stop, you will kill him!"

"So? The fucking ass tried to run!"

"He's not the first one, and Beast stopped him. Now-" Ben cursed and pushed at Kenneth as he was about to deliver another kick, this time to Charlie's head. "Stop! We need him alive for the fight!"

Kenneth spat angrily, but stopped.

"I hope the kid will slice you open, you fucker. Eviscerate you like a rabid dog!"

Charlie jerked, expecting another kick.

It didn't come.

"Get him back to his room before I do it myself," Kenneth growled then grabbed the beer bottle Ben had put down in the skirmish.

Charlie didn't make a sound of protest as Ben hauled him up and pushed him in front of him back to the basement. Kenneth was giving him the death glare and Charlie was pretty sure that if Ben wasn't there, Kenneth would have just thrown him out the back door and let Beast finish him off.

What a damn name for a dog anyway.

It was clear Ben was pissed at him too, Charlie noted as he was manhandled to his room. Once there, Ben pushed him so hard he fell against the bed. Charlie hissed in pain.

As if things couldn't be worse, Ben took a look around the room.

"You fucked this up, Charlie," he said in a low voice, disappointment filling his eyes. Charlie frowned, feeling an ire of anger.

"I had to try at least."

"Well... next time you try... you better succeed," Ben growled. Spotting the bottle of pain pills, his eyes glinted as he grabbed it.

"No more privileges for you," he said, put the pills into his pocket and headed out. He paused at the door and took out the key. "No more running around either. Bathroom breaks when I come around," he said, slammed the door shut and locked the door, leaving Charlie alone to ponder his faith.

He looked down at his dirty shoes, at the ripped up pants. He sighed and leaned over, pulling the pant leg up to inspect the damage.

He was lucky it seemed. By some miracle, most of Beasts teeth didn't get through skin, leaving only white scratch marks. Only two managed to pierce through, leaving a sluggishly bleeding wound. Wonderful. Charlie hoped the dog wasn't rabid. He wished for some water and soap, if only to wash off the grime and slobber from his legs. The door was locked though and all he had was a glass of water. With a sigh, Charlie tore off a piece of the already torn pants and wrapped it around the leg. Least he could do was to stop it from bleeding onto the bed. Once done, he changed his clothes and lie down. There was no sense in doing anything else.

This might've looked like a loss. The fresh bruises on Charlie's body definitely told a story of failure. Despite the pain though... Charlie's lips curled up in a smile.

He managed to call Johnson.

And Kenneth and Ben were none the wiser.

* * *

Charlie hated waiting. The minutes seemed like hours and hours seemed like days, especially with his door locked now. He felt at least partially secure in the thought they needed him alive for the next night and thus there wasn't a big threat of Kenneth dropping by to kick him around some more.

Charlie wasn't sure about Ben either. If Johnson was right and he was Kenneth's half-brother, well. He would be harder to convince to turn against him, once they were caught. At least that's what Charlie assumed. Despite his situation, he bore no hard feelings against Ben, even though logically he should. The man was an adult, capable of making his own decisions. But Charlie also had brothers and knew that sometimes, blood went deep. He would do a lot for his brothers.

Ben's comment however left him on the fence. It sounded... almost as if Ben hoped he would've managed to escape. Maybe the man has had enough of this but didn't know a way out. Not one that wouldn't involve him betraying his brother.

Charlie sighed, his right arm curling around his chest. Damn, but Kenneth didn't help with the soreness he felt since the second fight. Charlie wished he had the presence of mind to stash those pills away, but he left them out in a hurry. Not that there was water or anything to wash them down, Charlie thought blankly.

Finally, Ben appeared in the late morning. Charlie didn't even ask, he rushed to the bathroom as soon as the door opened.

Ben waited in silence. He let him grab water and food from the kitchen, then nodded towards the room glumly.

"Come on, I had to try," Charlie grumbled.

"Yeah well. Maybe if you'd taken the kid with you, Beast would have let you pass. He is quite fond of Caleb."

Charlie froze in the door, then frowned himself.

"Maybe if I'd known there is a rabid dog at the door, I would have," he snapped back. He still felt Beast's teeth biting down on his skin.

Ben didn't seem impressed.

"I told you there were traps."

Charlie looked at him, exasperated.

"Well, you could've been a bit more clear! What the hell is your problem? Are you being an ass because I _didn't_ manage to run away?"

Ben just glared, then gave a nod for Charlie to move. Charlie let out a frustrated sigh, entering his room and putting down the plate of sandwich and water pitcher on the table, then turning back to Ben.

"You know you can stop this, right?"

Ben shook his head.

"The fight is tonight. Get some rest... or don't. Up to you."

With that, Ben pulled the door closed, the sound of the lock turning making Charlie cringe.

He looked at his watch. Half past ten in the morning.

With a sigh he settled on the chair and took a bite of the sandwich.

He hated waiting.

* * *

Charlie was pulled out from his slumber by a sound of voices. He rolled off the bed before he knew it, standing in place frozen. Was it time?

He watched the doorknob, expecting it to turn any second.

Nothing happened.

The voices became muffled and Charlie realized whomever it was went to Caleb's room. That didn't make him feel any better. He went to the door, leaning his head against it, hoping to figure out what was going on. Who was it with Ben?

He couldn't hear anything but rustling and muffled tones for a few minutes. He tried the door knob, hoping against all that Ben might've unlocked the door during his short nap. No such luck. His lock pins had been confiscated as well and it wasn't like there was a big need to escape again. This was the plan after all. As long as Johnson managed to locate the house or trail Kenneth of course.

Charlie's thoughts and doubts were interrupted when he heard the door to Caleb's room open. He didn't hear Caleb, but he definitely recognized the voice speaking.

"He's in good shape. Give him this half an hour before and it should do the trick."

It was the blasted doctor!

Charlie gritted his teeth.

Suddenly he remembered the man's words " _I'll be back before the fight, as usual"_. What the hell did that mean? He wasn't checking up on Charlie that was sure. He could hear the man and Ben heading back up the stairs.

"Sure thing, Doc. Will you be available for the night or do you have a shift at the hospital?"

"I have the morning shift. I should be able to stop by for a moment if needed, but I have other plans as well."

Charlie didn't hear about the plans, he didn't much care anyway. The freaking bastard worked at the hospital no less! And did this mean Caleb was meant to be Charlie's opponent? Or maybe there was more than just one fight planned...

Charlie turned away from the door, sliding down the wall.

If he had to fight Caleb...

His mouth felt suddenly dry.

He knew one thing. He couldn't hurt the kid.

Now all he could do was pray that Johnson and the backup arrived in time.


	9. 3rd Fight

It was two hours later when the door to Charlie's room opened. It was Kenneth, hauling him out unceremoniously.

Charlie couldn't even find it in himself to protest.

Not until he saw Ben coming out of Caleb's room with the boy behind.

Caleb looked at Charlie, his eyes a bit wide and complexion more pale than usual. Then he looked away.

Charlie's assumption was confirmed. He didn't even have to ask. He balked.

"No. You can't do this!" he said, ignoring the way Kenneth's fingers dug into his shoulder.

"We can do whatever we want. Now keep moving you bastard or I will drag you by your feet if I must."

Charlie might've protested more, but Kenneth took hold of his already injured hand and squeezed. Charlie yelped, his knees going weak.

"Stop the bickering, and get into the car!" Ben snapped, obviously tired of the posturing.

Kenneth just snorted, giving Charlie a push forward.

They left the house and were pushed inside the familiar car. Charlie and Caleb sat on the backseat. As they were both seated, Kenneth pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Without asking, he put it on Charlie's right hand and Caleb's left, handcuffing them together.

Charlie threw him a glare before he was unceremoniously blinded by the damn burlap sack, once again pulled over his head.

This was ridiculous.

He knew whatever the outcome was, they wouldn't let him get out of this alive. Kenneth wouldn't at least. Why all this charade about the sacks then? Was Kenneth doing it for Caleb's sake?

It didn't matter.

Charlie couldn't have escaped even if he wanted, not with Caleb handcuffed to him. He was just glad he sat on the left side of the car and it was his right hand handcuffed. He wasn't sure he could hold his breakfast if his left kept being juggled and pulled with the constant motion of the car or when Caleb nervously twitched his fingers. Which he did a lot.

By the time they reached their destination, Charlie was ready to snap at Caleb to stay still.

Thing was, he was feeling about as nervous as the kid. He thought that there would be more time. If it was anyone but Caleb he was supposed to fight, he could drag it out. He wouldn't mind taking and giving a few punches. But he really didn't want to be put in the same ring as Caleb.

When the car stopped, Charlie reached up to take off the sack, but Kenneth's words stopped him.

"No. Keep that on until I say you can take it off."

Charlie paused, weirded out by the command. What was Kenneth worried he would see?

Still, he knew he was already on thin ice with the man. It wasn't worth the hassle.

The handcuffs clicked open and suddenly Charlie was free of Caleb. He couldn't even properly enjoy it when he was pulled out of his seat and led away.

"Caleb?" he called out but got no response. "What the hell's going on?"

"Shut up."

Kenneth was leading him through what felt like a long corridor. Charlie heard only his own and Kenneth's footsteps. It seemed like the place was empty of any furniture as there was a strange echo.

Charlie realized they weren't in the usual gym.

He swallowed down the rising feeling of worry.

The third fight was happening somewhere else. If Johnson lost track of them... he was pretty much screwed. And he wouldn't even know until it was too late.

"Here. Get ready," Kenneth said as he pushed Charlie through a door. Charlie finally reached up and took off the sack. He blinked at another small cubicle, barely bigger than a broom closet. Kenneth was smirking at him from the door. "Don't worry... no one will open this lock before the fight starts. I made sure of that."

Kenneth slammed the door closed and Charlie heard not one but two different locks engage. Oh well. Not like he had all that much experience in lock picking, or as much time as he would need for this.

Instead he was left in a room with barely anything.

He wasn't sure what broom closet would need two locks... and he also didn't see any brooms around. Unfortunately, the room's furnishing didn't give him any clue to its purpose. Only that it wasn't being used all that often. There was a layer of dust and paint laying on the floor and the single chair in the middle. As usual there was some wrapping for his hands, a pitcher of water. Nothing else.

More waiting. Charlie would've liked to think he was becoming better at it, but it would be a lie.

He used the time to try and wrap his injured hand as best he could, knowing well it would hinder his fighting anyway. Charlie fervently hoped Johnson had made it and would step in, before anyone would get harmed.

But it was just that... a hope.

When Kenneth next came, he was accompanied by another guy Charlie didn't know. It was a burly man, one of those you saw in the gym lifting weights all day long. He didn't speak, didn't do more than give Charlie a look of pure disinterest. Charlie assumed it was just a backup Kenneth brought in case Charlie balked at the last moment. It caused Charlie a surprising amount of joy to realize that Kenneth was vary of him to some point.

"It's time," Kenneth said and nodded at the man. He stepped towards Charlie, who took an instinctive step back, only to realize there was really nowhere to go. With a sigh, he stood in place, shooting Kenneth a glare.

"What, were you too afraid I would run?"

"Nah. Douglas was just worried I would finish you off before getting to the ring," Kenneth replied with a smirk.

Charlie huffed.

"As if," he muttered under his nose as the guard took hold of his shoulder and steered him towards the door. There was no escaping that death grip, nor the sack that was once again put over his head.

Charlie was pretty sure that it wasn't a necessary precaution, just Kenneth's way of making his life more miserable.

The walk seemed to be at the same time longer than the one he took from the car, but also too short. In mere minutes, Charlie heard and felt the presence of people. There were no shouts and yells, but there was a distinct chatter all around and even blinded, he could feel the eyes on him. Judging, expecting blood.

They finally came to a stop. The death grip vanished from his shoulder and suddenly Charlie was left alone.

Well, as alone as someone surrounded by people could be.

It took him a second to realize that he was left to his own devices. He could also hear a hiss of breath as someone was pushed against him.

Charlie took a step back and promptly pulled down the sack. It took him a moment to adjust. It seemed that there were several lights pointed his way.

"What the hell?" he muttered, quickly blinking and trying to find his bearings.

He thought he would be in a ring but that wasn't true anymore. Charlie caught sight of unfamiliar, posh looking faces staring at him from the darkened area. He couldn't see much though, because most of the lights were on them. He could see however the high ceiling of an industrial building or a warehouse.

They were definitely not at the gym.

And they were not in a ring either. Charlie found himself to be standing inside a metal cage.

It was large... probably a bit larger in diameter than the usual boxing ring would be. But there was no escape, not even from the top. The only way out was a door, locked and guarded by two behemoths and a smirking Kenneth.

Charlie swallowed, then turned to look at his opponent.

His heart skipped a beat as he recognized Caleb.

Of course, he was expecting it at this point, but still, he was hoping he wouldn't have to face the kid.

Caleb was looking around equally wide eyed, somehow reminding him of a cornered animal.

Charlie's brows furrowed.

"Caleb? Hey, look at me," he said, ignoring the sudden jeering from the crowd. He didn't care about them really. He just wanted Caleb to look at him and somehow communicate that they didn't need to do this. All they had to do was pretend, buy some time.

Caleb snapped his face away from the crowd and looked at Charlie.

Or rather, he looked through him.

Charlie noted the too wide pupils, the fear and rage hidden in those eyes.

"Damn it kid," he muttered, raising his hands to show he didn't mean any harm.

Caleb only noticed the movement though.

It was as if the last two weeks didn't happen, as if he never saw Charlie before. It was as if the kid was replaced by an angry and dangerous stranger.

There was a whistle from outside the cage. Charlie winced, then promptly sidestepped. Caleb had charged at him.

"Bloody hell! Caleb! Stop!" Charlie tried to break through the haze of drugs that must've been rushing through Caleb's system. Surely that was what the blasted doctor had been talking about. But it was useless.

Every time Charlie opened his mouth, Caleb just seemed to grow angrier and angrier. The shouts and jeers from the crowd only made it worse.

Charlie had taken one or two hits, trying to use the contact to subdue Caleb, to get him to listen.

Each time though Caleb slipped out of his hold like a weasel. He was thin and surprisingly agile. Charlie quickly figured out that he wouldn't be able to keep this up without some sort of an attack. Caleb's fists were fuelled by rage and drugs and it damn well hurt.

Charlie looked around, hoping to spot Johnson or at least some kind of a sign that the backup was there. But the lights were shining into his eyes, making it impossible to see clearly.

He had to bade for time... and if worse came to worse, knock the kid out somehow. Maybe that would be enough for the crowd.

Another punch caught him in the face and Charlie stumbled back, momentarily blinded. Caleb had caught him just right on the temple. The sounds became a bit less clear, his focus slipping.

' _Focus, Charlie!'_ It was Lawson's voice and for a second Charlie turned his head searching the source. Hoping to see his Boss there. At least then he would know he was safe.

' _On the fight, bloody idiot!'_

Charlie wasn't sure whether it was Bill's voice or Blake's now, though he admittedly didn't remember Blake swearing at him in such way.

' _God, I'm losing it,'_ he thought as he raised his arms, catching a glancing shot from Caleb on his left forearm. His whole arm throbbed, sending spikes of pain through his shoulder straight to his head.

Next time Caleb charged, Charlie didn't think. He blocked the attack and used his right leg to get Caleb to the ground. He knew his dominant arm was shot to hell.

Caleb crashed to his knees with spectacular force. Charlie could've sworn he heard the kid's teeth click.

He managed to get himself behind Caleb's back and put his arms around his neck in a chokehold.

The crowd buzzed.

Caleb trashed under his hands and Charlie pressed a bit more, but it was hard to keep the pressure up. The drugs gave Caleb a rush that Charlie was missing.

They struggled, Charlie pushing his knee into Caleb's back and sending them both sprawling on the ground.

"Just stay the hell down kid!" Charlie hissed.

Caleb let out a roar and buckled.

Charlie cursed as Caleb's elbow caught him in the already bruised ribs. He let up some of the pressure and it was enough for Caleb to roll out of his reach. They were both on the ground, glaring at each other, panting. Neither of them moved though.

The crowd let out a sound of protest.

Charlie wished all of them would just drop dead, feeling sickened by their thirst for blood.

It was nothing to the feeling of dread he felt a moment later though.

The door of the cage opened, only for a second though.

Two things landed on the floor, right between Caleb and Charlie.

Knives.

Two shiny, sharp as hell knives.

"No," Charlie said, eyes wide. No way in hell was he doing this. "Sick bastards!" he shouted towards the already locked door, only to see Kenneth giving him a finger.

"You don't have to do this, Caleb," Charlie tried, but knew it was useless. He could see the glint of excitement in Caleb's eyes. They were locked on the knives and he was already lunging forward.

"Damn!" Charlie didn't want to, but he knew he had no choice. He lunged forward as well.

His hand landed on the knife nearest to him. He tried to grab the other one too, to get it out of Caleb's reach, but he was too late.

Caleb was already clutching the knife and Charlie had to pull back his hand quickly as the kid lashed out.

Grunting and wishing he had just stayed back in Ballarat, Charlie fell back and used his legs to push himself backwards, out of Caleb's reach. Then he rolled over and as fast as he was capable of get up to his feet. He felt the weight of the knife in his right hand and wondered where the hell did his life go wrong.

The crowd seemed to be thrilled by the possibility of seeing more blood as the cage rattled.

"Kill him!" the people roared and Charlie didn't know who they were talking to, but it didn't matter. He was not a killer. Unfortunately, Caleb seemed to take in the sound as his lips curled up in a feral smile. He was now facing Charlie, maybe five feet between them as Caleb switched the knife from his right to left hand, then back.

Charlie's brows furrowed as he remembered the thudding sound he heard each night from Caleb's room.

The kid was good with a knife. Of course. That's why Douglas and Kenneth kept him... he was their closer.

"Finish him!" Kenneth shouted from somewhere, jeering the kid on.

Charlie gritted his teeth, the knife in his hand feeling strange and more like a useless weight.

Cheered by all the noise, Caleb let out a roar and rushed at Charlie.

Charlie let his instincts and police training take over. He raised his right arm to protect himself. The knife slashed through the skin of his forearm, but Charlie didn't care. If not his arm, it would've hit him in the throat. Using Caleb's proximity, Charlie used the handle of the knife as brass knuckles and slammed his fist into Caleb's nose.

Blood splashed around as Charlie felt the crack of the cartilage breaking.

"Stop it!" Charlie shouted and as Caleb stumbled backwards, he seemed to hesitate.

The overhead lights suddenly blinked.

There were shouts and the sound of the crowd changed from excitement and blood thirst to panic.

Charlie barely noticed, really. All he could hear was the pumping of his own blood, all he could see were Caleb's eyes. Determined.

Dangerous.

Charlie grimaced. He could feel his right sleeve turning wet from the blood. He could feel each and every bruise he had received in the last week, his left leg throbbing where the blasted dog had bit him. Despite all of that, despite Caleb ready to charge again, Charlie couldn't erase the image of his own brother's face. It could've so easily been Ray.

Without thinking, Charlie raised the hand still holding the knife. Then, seeing Caleb's eyes following his every motion, he let the weapon drop from his fingers.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, praying it would get through Caleb's head. Around them the noise was raising in volume and desperation. He thought he caught the words 'Police! Get on the ground!

The overhead light flickered once again.

In the momentary darkness, all Charlie saw was quick movement in front of him. He felt a heavy punch in his gut, saw the whites of Caleb's eyes. The too wide pupils, only inches from Charlie's own.

The door to the cage swung open. People rushed in, pulling the kid off of him.

Charlie took a step backwards, then two.

He saw Caleb struggle as the light flickered again. When it came back on, the men who were holding the kid were both just getting up off the floor. Caleb was gone.

Someone shouted for them to get him and the two men followed the command.

Good. Charlie hoped they caught him. Charlie hoped those two were cops and not someone working with Kenneth though.

"Charlie?" Someone was in front of him, grabbing his chin.

Charlie turned and saw Johnson. The man looked haggard. His lip was busted and he was sporting a shiner, but most of all his eyes were filled with concern.

Charlie felt almost touched.

"Took your time," he grunted, then blinked.

Damn, but the kid could throw a punch.

He was still having trouble catching his breath, his side throbbing something awful. Maybe he broke a rib again?

"Yeah well, we ran into some trouble on the way. Are you alright?"

Charlie huffed.

Of course he wasn't. He went through hell for the last few weeks, not knowing whether he would survive or not. But that wasn't important now. It was over, wasn't it?

Charlie nodded.

"Find Caleb?" he said, still hoping the kid could be saved somehow. This wasn't his fault after all.

"Yeah, working on it. I'm more worried about you." Johnson's eyes ran over Charlie's body, assessing. They stopped at his torso.

"Fuck!" he cursed and Charlie blinked. He didn't think he looked that bad.

"I need a medic!" Johnson shouted to someone outside the cage.

"T's alright... just sore," Charlie muttered with a frown. True, he hurt all over and his arms were probably a mess what with the cut too, but that was hardly a reason for the panic in Johnson's eye.

"Yeah, no kidding," Johnson snapped, his hand touching Charlie's stomach.

The pain changed.

Charlie hissed and looked down, trying to figure out why suddenly it was as if someone gutted him.

The growing stain of crimson on his left side came as a bit of a surprise. The bloody knife lying just a feet from him made things clearer.

"Shit," Charlie uttered, realizing the punch wasn't a punch at all.

Caleb had stabbed him.

With that knowledge it was as if all the strength left his body.

The kid stabbed him, even after he dropped his own knife.

Why the hell would he do something like that?

Why?

Charlie's mind couldn't stop pondering that question, even as his knees buckled.

He felt arms grab him and help him to the floor. He turned his head, sight suddenly blurry. There was a stab of pain as Johnson leaned over and put pressure on the wound. Charlie's leg jerked in response, but that was about all the protest he was capable of.

"Hang on, Charlie. It's over. Just hang on," Johnson kept repeating, but Charlie tuned it out. The lights above were swaying, flickering. Charlie thought it was almost pretty.

Then everything went black.


	10. The Hospital

There were flashes of light. The darkness kept being interrupted, either with noise or pain. Charlie tried to tune it out, fall back into its safe embrace. He was just tired of being on edge.

For a while it seemed his wish was granted.

There was calmness.

Then the sensations returned. First thing that hit him was the smell. That typical smell of a hospital, irritating his nose, yet at the same time relaxing. It reminded him of Ballarat, of Blake's surgery. Safety.

Charlie slowly, carefully opened his eyes.

The room he was in was dark, but it wasn't the complete darkness of the basement he was used to wake up in lately. There was a lamp turned on by the opposite wall, right next to an occupied chair.

Charlie squinted, carefully turning his head to get a better look.

' _Doc?'_ he thought hopefully but realized almost instantly that couldn't be.

"Good morning," said the man in the chair and stood up, walking towards Charlie.

"Gary?" Charlie mumbled, his mouth dry like the Sahara. And was it morning really? Charlie looked towards his right and saw the lifting darkness behind the window.

"Well, maybe not morning yet. But close," Gary said with a sigh. Charlie thought the man looked tired, with deep circles under his eyes, the right one half closed from a shiner.

"What's going on?" Charlie asked, reaching out towards his head to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes. As soon as he moved his arm though he hissed. His left hand was in a cast that reached almost up to his elbow.

Right. It seemed that he really managed to break something.

He used his right one instead, grimacing at the pull of the IV. His head felt fuzzy and he didn't know whether it was from drugs or the hits he received.

"I think it's safe to say you lost the fight," Johnson said with an apologetic look. "Sorry. I know we should've stepped in sooner, but... there were some unexpected problems."

"Problems?" Charlie frowned and used his good arm to push himself into a sitting position. At least he tried to. As soon as he leaned over a bit, he felt pain in his side. It wasn't the bruised ribs or muscles. This felt different.

"He stabbed me," Charlie uttered in bewilderment, the memories rushing back with vengeance.

"Yes, he did," Johnson agreed, helping him into a more comfortable position. "But you were lucky. He didn't hit any organs. You were bleeding quite a bit, but... you should be just fine."

Charlie didn't feel like it. His vision was a bit blurry and his whole body started throbbing. Whatever drugs he got were starting to fade.

"Where is he?"

"The kid?"

"Yeah," Charlie grunted, looking around for a glass of water or something he could drink. He felt thirsty and his throat was dry. The room felt stuffy.

"Water?" Johnson asked as he saw Charlie's look.

"Yes please," Charlie said, taking the offered glass, closing his eyes at the momentary relief the cool water brought.

"After he stabbed you, Caleb tried to run away. Not sure if you remember."

Charlie nodded, feeling his stomach tighten once again.

"Did you find him?"

Johnson's lip turned up in a smile.

"We did. But hush... it's a secret." He winked.

Charlie blinked, confused.

"I don't understand," he admitted, feeling foolish for being so slow on the uptake. Johnson didn't seem to mind though.

"My men caught up with him, knocked him out. Fortunately, no one was around to see it. Per orders, they took him to a car. He was already deposited in a special facility a few towns over."

Charlie wanted to feel relieved, but he was still confused about the secrecy.

"What facility? Is he safe?"

"It's a... rehab centre with extra security. Do not worry, he will be well taken care of until the trial."

Trial. Well, that possibly explained the need for the secrecy. Johnson nodded, clearly reading Charlie's track of thought.

"Everyone thinks he ran away. He should be quite safe."

"Good," Charlie said with a sigh of relief.

"It is, for him. Not so much for you," Johnson said, his voice bearing a hint of regret.

Charlie blinked, focusing back on Johnson's face, trying to read the man. He looked tense and tired. Things definitely weren't over just because the fight had ended. Charlie cursed the haze his mind seemed to be under. Of course there was more to this.

"You... didn't get them all?" Charlie asked and Johnson shook his head.

"We caught Douglas and Richard. Kenneth and his brother Ben managed to escape. We arrested most of the people at the fight, but..." Johnson shrugged. "So far, they are all saying the same. This was meant to be a simple fight. I am expecting most of them will have their lawyers at the station by the time I return there."

Charlie cringed. Of course, that was to be expected. He assumed that the spectators Douglas brought for the fight all had to pay a hefty charge for the special feature. Which meant they were loaded.

"We will be lucky if they get a slap on the hand," Johnson said, his frustration clearly visible.

"What about Douglas and Richard?"

"We might have a bit more luck there," Johnson perked up. "We will need your full statement. I'm sure Richard and Douglas won't say much, but... if we manage to find Ben, he might help us out. There was also some evidence at the house where you were held. For now we have them on the charge of kidnapping, coercion, illegal betting and drug possession."

Charlie wanted to say it was good. Sadly, none of those charges would be enough to put them down for good unless new evidence popped up or they could be connected to murder charges. And even the kidnapping was questionable. After all, Charlie was given the choice... he could've decided to stay in jail on bogus charges instead.

"Do you feel up to giving a statement? Or do you need to get some rest first?" Johnson spoke, pulling Charlie from his thoughts, which were starting to turn rather dark.

Charlie contemplated his options for a moment. His body was starting to hurt, but his mind was starting to clear up a bit. He thought rest might be nice, on the other hand he realized that Johnson had spent the night by his side in hopes of learning everything there was as soon as possible. After all, he would have to return to the station and try to fix the mess that was undoubtedly awaiting there.

"Let's do it now," Charlie said with a sigh.

"Alright. I have Sergeant Keller at the door as guard. We can use him as a witness, alright?"

Charlie nodded, though a frown marred his face.

"A guard?" he asked when Johnson headed for the door.

"Yeah," Johnson paused, turning back towards Charlie. "Given the involvement of certain people in the case... there's reasonable concern that your life might still be in danger."

Well, if that wasn't the icing on the cake. Charlie groaned.

"The doctor?"

Johnson nodded.

"He's a head surgeon in this hospital."

Charlie startled, definitely not expecting that.

"What?"

Suddenly, any feeling of safety he could've had vanished.

"Calm down. We apprehended him right after the fight. He's currently at the station, awaiting interrogation. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how long we can keep him there."

"Why... why am I here then?" Charlie wondered, wide eyed. Was Johnson trying to get rid of him? Bringing him right into the lion's den?

Johnson raised his hands in a calming gesture.

"It's alright. We didn't have much of a choice. You were bleeding pretty badly, this was the nearest hospital. I've already arranged a transport to a different hospital. It should pick you up in the afternoon."

Somehow that didn't make Charlie feel any calmer. Afternoon seemed hell of a lot far away for someone who was stuck in a bed and unable to properly protect himself. And how safe was the other hospital anyway?

"What if he has some friends over there too?" Charlie asked, barely hiding his fear.

"That's... doubtful. But in any case, there will be protective measures, so don't worry," Johnson tried to reassure him.

Charlie gritted his teeth, but found he didn't have the energy to argue right now. So he just nodded.

"I promise Charlie, we will keep you safe," Johnson tried to reassure him still. Charlie looked at him doubtfully. Not that he didn't believe Johnson, the man did arrive in time after all. But... Charlie worried there might be other circumstances that would be out of his hands. Didn't he mention some problems having to locate him earlier?

Johnson took his silence as agreement and went to fetch the guard. Charlie was a bit nervous about the man's presence. How would he know if he didn't work for Kenneth?

"This is sergeant Erik Keller. Don't worry Charlie. I brought Erik in last year from Billoxby. He was helping me out with the case."

"Sir," Erik gave a nod in greeting and Charlie relaxed a bit. That meant the man knew he was a cop and not a scoundrel mixed up with an illegal fighting ring. And well, if he didn't, he would sure learn once he heard Charlie's statement.

Johnson pulled up a nearby chair and took out a pen and a notepad.

"Alright, if you feel up to it, let's start from the beginning."

And thus Charlie slowly and in as much detail as he could, recounted the last two weeks.

It was amidst the interview when there was a rapt knock on the door. Before anyone could call out, the door opened and in walked a plump, older nurse.

"Is everything alright, gentlemen? I saw that sergeant Keller wasn't on guard anymore."

"Yes, we are fine, thank you nurse Louise," Johnson said, putting his notepad aside. The nurse looked around the room and her eyes narrowed as she saw Charlie half sitting up. She shot Johnson a glare and approached her patient.

"I thought I told you to let us know when Mr. Smith woke up."

Johnson averted his eyes.

"Ah, sorry. It slipped my mind."

"You were not supposed to disturb the patient either. What is this, are you interviewing him?" She crossed her arms across her chest disapprovingly, then shook her head and turned her attention towards Charlie.

Charlie, who was trying to vanish on the spot.

"How are you doing, young man?" she asked and took hold of his uninjured hand, first checking the IV port then his pulse.

"Uh, alright, madam," Charlie answered sheepishly, throwing a pleading look towards Johnson and Keller. Both men stayed silent, pretending there was something fascinating on the wall or their hands. Charlie wanted to call them out on their cowardice, on the other hand he had the pleasure of meeting a nurse of similar disposition in the past and knew it was better not to mess around.

He didn't even protest when she pushed a thermometer under his tongue.

"I will need to check the incision. Could you give us some privacy?" nurse Louise turned to Johnson. It was clear she wasn't really asking, more telling them to get lost. Under different circumstances, Charlie was sure the men would've scattered. Right now though, Johnson shook his head, not moving an inch.

"I'm sorry, but that won't be possible. Mr. Smith is not to be left alone with anyone for the duration of his visit."

"You can't be serious," nurse Louise argued.

"I most definitely am. If you have a problem with that, check in with the hospital director. Or the new police chief."

Nurse Louise huffed but Johnson's stance was clear. She looked at Charlie, as if asking for his support.

Charlie gave a half shrug, feeling equal part surprised and unfazed.

With some muttering, the nurse took the thermometer, noting down the number. Then she did a quick job of checking the stab wound. Charlie risked a look, seeing a row of stitches and angry red skin. Just the sight sent a stab of pain through his abdomen.

"It looks alright so far. The doctor will stop by to check on you shortly after breakfast. Now let's see the leg."

She pulled up the blanket, while Charlie stared at her confused.

"Leg?"

She frowned at him.

"The dog bite," she pointed out and Charlie saw a small bandage on his left calf. He had totally forgotten the bite in all that happened. He really didn't think it was a big deal though in comparison to the stab wound.

"I don't understand why you haven't had that taken care of," she scolded him as she checked the wound and tutted.

"It was just a scratch," Charlie protested then hissed when she touched the skin above the cut. It felt more sore than he remembered, but he thought that might've been caused by the bruise right above. Caleb had managed to land a kick or two to his legs after all.

" _Any_ dog bite should be treated, or at least cleaned. Do you know what those creatures put into their mouths? It's a cesspool of bacteria," she said with a shudder and Charlie was sure the woman wasn't a fan of dogs.

"I forgot," Charlie said simply, not wanting to explain how he really didn't have any access to water at the time.

The nurse muttered something under her breath and put the bandage back on, pulling the blanket down over Charlie's legs.

"Well, next time try not to. It's infected."

Charlie wasn't happy to hear that.

"Oh. Will it be okay?" he asked, suddenly assaulted by images of having his leg cut off. Wouldn't that be the icing on the cake.

The nurse saw the panic and must've taken pity on him. She patted the blanket.

"Don't worry. The antibiotics you're getting should take care of it. The doctor will check it too. Now... how's your pain?"

Charlie felt that he could maybe use some pain reliever, but the discomfort wasn't unbearable yet and he wanted to finish giving his interview.

"It can wait a bit," he said, trying to appear stronger than he felt. He knew it was stupid; if she had asked without the presence of the other two men, he would have said he hurt and he just wanted to get some sleep. But that wasn't the case.

Nurse Louise saw straight through him.

"I'll come in in half an hour, if you change your mind."

Charlie thanked her and they all waited until she left the room. Charlie was the first to break the embarrassing silence.

"New police chief?"

"Right, you don't know about that. Sydney sent a new police chief to replace the old one. It's Chief Superintendent Fernandez. He arrived to town last night. As soon as the raid went down, he settled at the station along with five more men. It will be a mess for a while, but with the old Superintendent gone, we can start cleaning up the place."

Johnson seemed at the same time weary at the prospect but also excited for the chance of getting something done. Charlie totally understood the feeling. When they got rid of Munro, he felt like the weight of the world was off his shoulders, at least until the next crisis hit Ballarat. He still couldn't be grateful enough for Lawson's return.

"Alright, so what happened after that second fight?" Johnson nudged the conversation back to the interview.

"I'm not sure. Kenneth got me inside the house. I guess Ben panicked or something. Next thing I remember was that doctor leaning over me."

"That's Dr. Kendrick," Johnson nodded with a grimace.

"How did you figure out who he was? I hardly gave you a good description," Charlie wondered if perhaps they might have gotten the wrong person.

"After the phone call I started tailing Kenneth. He picked up Kendrick and drove him to the house. It was a few hours before the fight, right?"

"Yeah, that had to be him. He stopped by to check on Caleb. I think he dropped off some drugs for him," Charlie said with a grimace.

"Yes. As soon as we finish here, I'm heading to the station and interrogating the bastard. I am really curious what he will come up with," Johnson said, a look of disgust on his face. It was clear the man didn't leave a good impression on him either.

"Do you think you will get him talking?" Charlie somehow doubted it. The doctor seemed calculating and cold hearted. Charlie would bet good money that Johnson would have an easier time trying to break Richard than the doc. But that wasn't his problem now. All he needed to do was survive the next few days, report back to Sydney for a proper debriefing and then hopefully get home. Oh how he wished to just enjoy the company of his friends and adoptive family, sit behind the dinner table and exchange good natured conversation. To wake up early and get in a run around the lake. Well, provided his leg didn't decide to fall off. Small things, but right now they looked more enticing than the detective position ever could.

Johnson just shrugged at Charlie's question and urged him to finish his report. It was clear to all of them that his energy was waning, not to mention the promised return of nurse Louise hung in the air. While Johnson didn't have to leave her alone with Charlie, it didn't meant she couldn't kick them out of the room.

It was twenty minutes later when Charlie finished his recount. His eyes were more closed than open by that time. He still remembered to ask one more question though.

"What took you so long?"

"What?" Johnson paused. He was putting away his notepad, getting up from the chair and readying himself to go.

"Last fight. You should have stepped in sooner," Charlie said with a hint of accusation.

Johnson grimaced.

"Yeah, I know. There was some... miscommunication."

Charlie's brows furrowed, so Johnson elaborated.

"After your call I informed O'Leary. The new chief, Superintendent Fernandez, made it to town in time, along with five people, but we were still waiting for the rest of the backup for the raid itself. I had a few people sent to the gym, but we figured quite soon you were not being moved there. Me and my men followed Kenneth's car to one of the empty warehouses that belong to Richard's father. Unfortunately, the backup team arrived to the gym instead and we didn't want to risk the raid in such a small number. I don't know where the mix-up happened," Johnson admitted and it was clear that small detail was bothering him as well.

"Better late than never," Charlie muttered thoughtfully, then grimaced. The pain meds had definitely stopped working now and even sitting up was becoming uncomfortable.

"Alright, I'll leave you with Erik here. I need to go to the station and interview Kendrick and about a dozen of other 'too rich for their own good' individuals. Erik will stay around until the afternoon, when you'll be moved. How does that sound?"

"Like a long wait," Charlie grumbled. He knew that there was no chance he would get comfortable with the looming threat, not until he was back on familiar grounds.

Johnson smiled and gave him a light pat on the blanket covered leg. Charlie cringed and Johnson raised his hands in apology, clearly having forgotten of the bite.

"Sorry. Get some sleep, it will pass faster. Don't worry, you're in good hands."

Easier said than done, but Charlie didn't argue. Instead he nodded.

"Gary?" he stopped Johnson before the door.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," Charlie said sincerely. "For having my back."

Johnson made a face, making a pointed look around the room and Charlie.

"I should've done better. But... you're welcome."

With that, Johnson left and Erik had followed him outside to stand guard. Charlie slipped back down into lying position, letting out a shaky sigh. Things just seemed so unreal. Even though he should have felt relief at this being mostly over, at the fact that Caleb was alive and safe and hell, that he himself wasn't killed, all he could focus on was the tight ball inside his stomach, which had nothing to do with the stab wound.

Charlie put it down to the stress of the last few days, to the fact he was becoming increasingly homesick. Being alone and hurt in a strange hospital would most likely make anyone homesick, he thought idly.

The door to his room opened, once again letting in nurse Louise, accompanied by Erik. This time she didn't protest, she didn't ask about Charlie's pain either though. She took his vitals, tutted and shot him a glare.

"You should have let me give you your medication earlier, young man," she admonished, then promptly injected something into Charlie's IV.

"Here, this should take care of the pain. Breakfast will be served in about an hour, until then you can rest."

Charlie wanted to say he wasn't even hungry, but he didn't dare to speak up. Nurse Louise didn't look like someone he would want to argue with. Erik was quietly standing in the corner, following what was going on but at the same time trying to appear as if he wasn't even there. Charlie, appreciated the effort.

He was soon left alone again and as the pain was beginning to abate, his eyes slipped closed.

He wasn't really planning on falling asleep, but the drugs had managed to subdue the feeling of eminent danger. The tension left his body, along with the pain.


	11. The Nurse

It seemed as if he had closed his eyes only a second ago. His body definitely wasn't ready to wake up, but despite that, there was an inner urge that he couldn't ignore.

Someone was in the room with him. Charlie sensed danger, despite the drugs coursing through his body. He felt a gentle tug at his IV line.

Brows furrowed, Charlie slowly opened his eyes.

There was a young nurse standing above him. She was fiddling with his IV, a syringe in one hand.

"Whazz that?" Charlie asked, half asleep.

The nurse yelped, startled. She obviously thought he would be asleep.

Charlie blinked, looking around the room, expecting Erik's laughter at the reaction. There was none, because there was no Erik.

"Ah, Mr. S-smith, you startled me," the nurse said, giving him a shaky smile.

Charlie's eyes settled on the syringe, which had just been pushed into the catheter of the IV line. She had yet to squeeze the plunger though, her hand slightly trembling.

Charlie's hand reached out, cumbersomely grabbing her wrist.

"What's that?" he asked, his voice a bit stronger. The rush of adrenaline was pushing back the effect of the drugs, clearing his head faster than a steaming cup of coffee.

"J-just your dose of p-painkillers," the nurse stuttered, then yelped as Charlie's hand squeezed her wrist.

"I've already got those," Charlie said and gave her a cold look. Her eyes widened and her hand slipped off the syringe, which was still stuck in the catheter.

"I... I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I'll just... check... with the head nurse," the girl said, swivelled on her feet and before Charlie could do more than shout out a 'Stop!' she was out the door.

Charlie blinked, for a second looking at the now wide open door. Then his brain kicked in.

"Shit!" he cursed and the first thing he did was pull the syringe from the catheter. He could see it was still full, but he couldn't be sure what was inside or whether the plunger was depressed a bit. Through gritted teeth, Charlie proceeded to clumsily pull out the IV itself.

"Hey! Stop!" Charlie heard Erik shout somewhere outside his room and thought it might've been aimed at him, but he just saw Erik run past the door, most likely in pursuit of the nurse. He must've decided to drop the pursuit though, because Erik was back in the room before the IV clattered to the floor.

"What the hell happened?" Erik asked, wide eyed as he rushed over to Charlie, taking in the blood now dripping from his arm. He grabbed the first thing he saw, which was the small pillow Charlie had to rest his broken arm on, and pushed it against the bleeding site.

"Where've you been?" Charlie hissed out, trying to sit up properly, while at the same time get a handle on his racing heart. Was this really what he thought? Or did the girl just mess up and got scared? But then... where was Erik?

Erik had blushed.

"Sorry, sir. I needed to use the bathroom, so I asked nurse Louise to keep an eye on your room and not let anyone in. But she must've left for an emergency. I can't see her outside. Who was that girl running from the room?"

"A nurse?" Charlie guessed. "You don't know her?"

Erik shook his head.

"I don't know most of the staff here. But she had no business being in your room. Did she try something? Are you alright, sir?"

Charlie nodded towards the syringe now laying innocuously on the bed sheet.

Erik's eyes widened.

"I should call the doctor!"

Charlie shook his head, feeling the blood draining from his face at the mere thought.

"No! It's... it's still full. I startled her."

Erik looked back at the door, torn. It was clear he wanted to go after the girl, but he couldn't leave Charlie alone either.

"I need to call this in," he said at last but Charlie stopped him.

"Maybe just... get me a band aid first? And some clothes," he said as an afterthought, even as he pulled the sheet off his legs. He cringed at the bruises he saw under the flimsy hospital gown, but decided to ignore them. Right now, the pain wasn't so bad. His whole body was thrumming with the realization that if he hadn't woken up, he would most likely be dead now.

"Sir? What do you mean?" Erik stood in place and Charlie felt like growling. Pulling up his best Lawson glare, he turned it on Erik.

"It means that I'm leaving. Now!"

Or well, as soon as he got some clothes, really. He could hardly go parading himself in a nightgown.

Erik shook his head.

"I can't allow that, sir."

"Why?" Charlie asked. "Am I under arrest?"

Erik seemed confused, shaking his head.

"No, but... you're a witness and I'm responsible for your safety..."

"Well, you're doing a splendid job," Charlie snapped, feeling just a tad of regret when he saw Erik cringe as if slapped.

"I'm sorry sir. I was really gone just a minute..."

Charlie raised a hand to stop him.

"Look, I don't blame you. But... I can't stay here any longer."

Erik still looked uncertain.

"Either you help me, or get the hell out," Charlie grunted, fed up. He knew that there was only a small window for him right now. He had to act before the adrenaline rush faded and he would most likely fall asleep. There was no one he could trust at this point.

Erik seemed to draw the same conclusion, or it was maybe just his guilt over messing up. He nodded.

"What... what should I do?"

"Band aid and clothes," Charlie said, glad that he was finally getting somewhere. Now getting out of the bed might be a different issue altogether.

"I don't want to leave you alone," Erik admitted.

"Just close the door," Charlie said with a sigh. He really doubted the nurse would come back and he was awake enough to protect himself. "I'll shout if anyone comes in," he added, mostly for Erik's benefit. The man nodded and was gone. Charlie hoped he wouldn't take too long. He would have preferred that the nurse was caught and interviewed. Maybe she could give them some evidence against Kendrick, or whoever sicked her against Charlie. But that would have required a search and questions and Charlie would just once again become the centre of attention, which could be more than dangerous.

No, Charlie needed to leave. Or better yet, he wanted to. There was only the matter of _how_. He wasn't under arrest and seeing as Chief Superintendent Fernandez must've been in the know about his role in all this, he was pretty sure the man wouldn't protest him getting somewhere safe. Charlie knew running off would most likely land him in trouble with the higher ups, especially O'Leary and Deputy Commissioner Andrews that sent him to this post in the first place.

He couldn't care less.

Erik must've been running around at high speed, because he was back truly shortly. There was a bundle of clothes in his arms. He deposited it on the bed next to Charlie, then pulled a roll of bandage from his pocket. Charlie thought that a band aid might've been enough, but he wasn't about to send the man on another supply hunt. He was thankful though when Erik took care of bandaging up the wound left from Charlie's tacky attempts of IV removal.

"Thanks," Charlie muttered as Erik tied of the bandage. He didn't fancy messing up his cast with blood as that would be hard to hide. "Did anyone see you with the clothes?"

Erik shook his head.

"No. I grabbed them from the bin with the donated clothes. There was an accident at the sawmill, most of the attention is that way."

Charlie grimaced, not even wanting to know what kind of accident that was. This could work for them just as much as against them.

"So probably no one saw the nurse?"

Erik shook his head.

"I don't think so... but I didn't really stop by to ask questions," Erik admitted. "Can you describe her? I only saw her back, before I lost her at the stairwell."

Charlie thought back to the scene, even as he started going through the clothes, trying to find something that would fit.

"She had dark eyes. And... a birthmark... just under her right eye."

Erik nodded, writing it down in his notepad, along with the time so he could ask questions later.

"That should help. Anything else?"

Charlie gave a slight shake of his head. He wasn't paying that much attention to the nurse to be honest.

"She was young... looked barely out of school. Scared," he added as an afterthought. Maybe she was coerced. Or maybe she did just make a stupid mistake and got worried about her job.

No, Charlie thought. He couldn't bet his safety on maybes.

He looked at the syringe still on the bed.

"You better take this as evidence," he nodded at it and Erik reached out, but Charlie stopped him.

"Fingerprints?"

Eric blushed.

"Yes, of course. Sorry, sir. I'm-"

"Stop apologizing," Charlie sighed, barely hiding his annoyance. He finally grabbed some clothes that could fit him. Casual brown slacks, a sweatshirt with a hoodie and a well worn leather jacket. Not exactly his style, more like something one of the young hoodlums on the street would wear, but that was alright. He supposed in the state he was in, with a pulled up hoodie no one would even recognize him.

"Sir? What do you want to do?" Erik asked as Charlie begun the painful process of changing his clothes.

"Go home," Charlie grumbled under his breath, then grunted as the movement pulled at his side. He swayed a bit and was thankful when Erik grabbed his arm for support.

"What?"

"Need to... leave town."

"Yes, but... where would you go? And how?"

Charlie knew well _where_ he wanted to go, but he wasn't about to spill that to Erik. The _how_ was a bit more complicated. He supposed he could ask Eric to drive him somewhere... perhaps even to Sydney. But that would leave the man in danger and consequently also Charlie. Right now, the staff at the hospital thought he was under guard because he was a witness and a flight risk. No one except for the few chosen ones knew he was a cop. But if they saw him walk out with the cop and just leave... it would bring questions. Someone would realize there was more to him and Charlie wanted to keep his identity secret as long as possible.

"We need to pretend I ran away," he said suddenly. "If they think I ran off like Caleb... they won't come looking for me."

"What? But... I can't do that, sir! I would lose my job!" Eric looked appalled at the mere idea of faking Charlie's 'escape'. Charlie ran a hand over his hair with a sigh.

"I don't have time for this," he mumbled, half wondering if knocking Erik out would solve the problem. Who was he kidding though. He would be happy to make it out of the building without falling on his ass, never mind knocking out another cop.

"Listen, why... why don't you call Johnson? Tell him about it?"

"About the nurse?"

Erik didn't look any happier about that idea. Admitting he screwed up in the first place wasn't so appealing. Charlie's look hardened.

"You'll have to tell him anyway. Call Johnson. Say I want to leave. All I need is a ride to the bus station... and some money for a ticket, so I could report to my supervisor. Then I'll be off your hands for good."

Erik was clearly thinking it through, but Charlie didn't have the luxury of the time. Soon, he knew, breakfast would be served and then all hell would break loose.

"Well? Go!" he snapped and Erik once again turned heel and ran out of the room.

Charlie gritted his teeth and slowly got off the bed. His head swayed a bit, but all in all he felt quite steady. Now he was actually glad nurse Louise gave him the painkillers. He would need them if his plan was to work out.

He turned back to the bed and put the pillow under the blanket, along with the clothes he didn't use. At a slight glance from the door the shape under the blanket reminded a sleeping human. Good. That might give him a few more minutes. Once satisfied, he gingerly walked over to the door, leaning his back against the wall, as much for support as to be out of sight of anyone entering.

He had to wait quite a bit longer than he would've liked, but finally the door opened once again.

Erik rushed in, looking at the bed and pausing.

"Sir?" he called out almost gingerly, as if not wanting to wake him up. Charlie grinned.

"What did Johnson say?"

Erik startled, spinning on his heels to face Charlie.

"Bloody hell, I thought..." Erik pointed to the bed. Charlie just raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, yes. He... he said to do that. Your plan. You need to... get to the parking lot and wait for sergeant Johnson. He said he will be there within half an hour and take you wherever you need to go."

Charlie thought about it. Should he trust the man? He wasn't very happy about the idea of waiting at the parking lot, on the other hand... it would most likely take him almost all that time just to get there. Especially if Erik wasn't going to accompany him.

"Alright. Now... tell me how to get there."

* * *

Charlie was leaning against a tree, trying to appear as if he was just waiting around lazily. The weather was nice, the cold of the night was being chased away with the rising sun, but Charlie still felt chilled to the bone. He bundled up inside the jacket and kept his head down, only glancing up when he heard an oncoming car.

He was in the shadow of the tree near the hospital building, but with a good view at the parking lot. There were people milling around, but most of them seemed to be in a hurry to either get to work or get treated. Charlie got only a few curious looks, but the hoodie and the weeks old stubble on his face surely discouraged anyone from approaching him.

That was good.

Getting out of his room unnoticed was surprisingly easy. It was around shift change, not to mention the sawmill accident. Charlie heard an excited nurse telling someone about a rather gruesome type of injury involving body parts that shouldn't be mentioned in one sentence with a saw. Charlie shuddered and quickened his steps, as much as he was capable of. The blasted leg was starting to throb, causing him to limp slightly.

The biggest challenge wasn't escaping his room unnoticed, but to find his way out of the maze of the hospital corridors. For the sake of the cover, Erik had to head to the bathroom and then simply check in on the sleeping form on the bed. It most likely wouldn't be until breakfast that Charlie's escape got discovered.

So he trudged through the corridors, having to backtrack once or twice. Erik gave him some pointers, but Charlie's mind seemed to ignore those for some reason.

By the time he stepped outside the building, he was covered in sweat and shaking. His limp grew heavier as every step also seemed to pull at the stitches in his side. Picking the tree wasn't as much strategy as necessity.

At least he didn't have to wait long.

Barely ten minutes had passed when there was an old brown Holden pulling up in the parking lot. Charlie glanced at the car, expecting to see it try and find a parking space like all the other cars before. Instead, the driver was slowly cruising around.

Charlie perked up. He was expecting Johnson in a police cruiser, but realized that would've been a dead giveaway. Still, he was vary. Maybe the nurse called in her failure and someone else was looking for him?

The car pulled up closer to Charlie's position and he could see the familiar face behind the wheel. Letting out a sigh of relief, Charlie pushed away from the tree. He stumbled a bit and gritted his teeth hoping his legs would hold him up. If he faltered right now, Johnson would most likely just cart him back to the hospital, ignoring his protests.

The mere thought of that possibility made Charlie's steps steadier. He looked around, hoping no one was watching him. Then he walked past two other parked cars and stepped a bit out from behind, catching Johnson's attention.

The Holden drove towards him and Charlie was about to get into the passenger seat, when Johnson shook his head and pointed him towards the back seat.

Not in the mood to argue or stick around unnecessarily, Charlie got inside the car and closed the door.

Sitting down was a relief.

"Hey," he said after taking a calming breath. "Thanks for stopping by."

Johnson turned around in his seat, the look on his face conveying he wasn't all that happy with the arrangement.

"I'm already regretting it," he admitted, shooting a look at a woman passing by. She quickly averted her eyes and quickened her steps towards the hospital. "You look like I should send you right back."

Charlie shook his head, wincing as it made his vision swim a bit.

"No. I'm not staying there," he protested.

Johnson sighed.

"Alright then. But if I am to drive you anywhere, lie down."

Charlie opened his mouth to protest. He wasn't _that_ injured.

"I can sit fine," he grumbled.

"Yes, and you are also quite a sight! I meant it would be better if half the town didn't see you sitting in my car."

"Oh," Charlie felt a bit stupid for not realizing that himself, but Johnson was right. It was enough that someone could've seen him here, the less people knew Johnson helped him escape the better.

With some grunting, Charlie managed to pack his lean form onto the back seat, although the position was hardly comfortable. It was even less so when the car started moving and Charlie could feel every bump and hole on the road.

Most of the ride was spent in silence, except for an occasional grunt from Charlie. And it was a grunt, he decided, not a whimper. Definitely not a whimper.

Johnson kept shooting him concerned looks, but didn't stop the car. After a while, Charlie noted that they were leaving the city limits.

"Where we going?" he asked with a frown, moving a bit to get a better look outside the window.

"Stay down," Johnson said calmly. "I thought it would be better to take you to the bus station in the next town. Safer."

Charlie lay back down, giving a nod. That sounded fair.

"How... how did the interview with Kendrick go?" he asked when the silence was becoming tiresome and his eyes started feeling heavy. He needed to stay awake for quite a bit longer. Falling asleep in Johnson's car wouldn't be smart.

Johnson shrugged.

"He said he was there for a home visit, to treat Ben. We pressed him with the details from your statement, but he clammed up, refusing to talk without a lawyer. And we can't really push him that hard yet. He's... respected."

Charlie grimaced.

Of course. Things wouldn't be easy. He wondered if this whole operation was really worth it. Would they be able to put those bastards away or did they just disturb some of their operations for a while?

Charlie felt doubt gnawing at him, but then he remembered that at least Caleb was safe. Even though the lad might not appreciate it at the moment. And whatever the outcome, with his own testimony there was enough evidence to at least take their badges and their power if nothing else.

"Are you sure I shouldn't drop you off at the hospital in the next town?" Johnson asked suddenly, looking uncertain.

"I want to go home," Charlie said, putting as much strength into his voice as possible.

"Sydney then?"

Charlie realized that Johnson thought Charlie was from Sydney, just like O'Leary. Well, Charlie wouldn't dissuade him off that notion.

"Yeah... Sydney," he said and hoped Johnson won't be asking more.

"That's quite a long ride."

Charlie grunted his assent. Hell of a long ride. It will be even longer to get home. He still had to figure out how.

They had finally reached the bus station. When Johnson parked the car, Charlie slowly sat up on the back seat.

"Here," Johnson said and was handing him a few bills of cash. "That should be enough for a ticket to Sydney... or somewhere close enough to get picked up by O'Leary. Sorry, I didn't have more on me when Erik called."

Charlie took the bills and with a sinking heart realized that wouldn't be enough to get him to Ballarat. But he would have to manage.

"Thanks, Gary," he said, appreciating all the effort. "I'll send it back to you once I'm home."

Johnson shook his head.

"Don't worry about that. But I would appreciate a call that you arrived in one piece. Actually... I insist on that."

Charlie smiled.

"That I can do," he said, hoping he would indeed arrive home safely. "Thanks for everything,"

Charlie reached out and they shook hands. Johnson nodded, looking torn, especially as Charlie opened the door and paused, preparing himself to getting up.

"Maybe I could wait with you for the bus?" Johnson offered.

Charlie shook his head.

"Nah, it's... better if no one sees you here. You should head back anyway. I'm sure my absence has been discovered already."

Johnson grimaced, but nodded. He still waited until Charlie walked in his slow pace towards the station information booth. Only then did he drive the car out.

Charlie looked back, seeing the Holden leave and let out a sigh. He was on his own. In another strange town, with people giving him odd looks. Better find his way back home somehow.

As he reached the information booth, he asked for the prices of tickets to several different towns, all except Ballarat. It wouldn't do to leave such a clear trail after all.

He learned that the money he got might get him to Sydney, but not to Melbourne. He was getting somehow desperate though to get out of Dodge as soon as possible, so he bought himself a ticket to Sydney after all. There were several stops he could get off, but if anyone tried to figure out where he went, the ticket lady would lead them to Sydney.

That was all good and well. His bus was heading out within half an hour, which served Charlie. Only problem was, he had no intention of going to Sydney. He felt a profoundly deep aversion towards the mere idea of having to face O'Leary or the Deputy Commissioner.

No, he needed to get home. He needed to talk to Lawson about the case, he needed Blake so he wouldn't end back up at the hospital and he desperately yearned for Jean's motherly care. Most of all... he wanted to stop looking around his shoulders.

There wasn't really much to think about.

Charlie looked around and his eyes fell on a pay phone.

His pockets were empty, but perhaps...

Charlie made his way towards the phone. He picked up the receiver, taking several deep breaths, hoping to steady himself. He wasn't sure how this discussion would go, but he had to try at least.

His fingers shakily dialled the number for the operator.

"I'd like to make a collect call please."

"What's the number and name?" the operator asked.

Charlie dictated the number and his name. Then waited for the dial tone to change, praying that someone would pick up.


	12. The Call

It was in the middle of the breakfast when the phone rang. Jean had just poured herself a glass of juice after the morning tea. Matthew was focused on his bacon, while Lucien was trying to innocuously read an article in the morning paper. It was something about an art exhibition in Melbourne, borrowing several paintings from the local art gallery. Jean was about to shoot him a glare for not leaving the paper alone during breakfast, when the blasted phone rang.

With a sigh, she put down her glass of juice.

"I'll take it, don't get up," she said a bit snarkily when neither of the men even pretended to do so. Lucien at least looked up a bit startled.

"Hm?"

Jean shook her head with a small smile. Of course, he was so focused he didn't even notice the phone.

"Dr. Blake's residence," Jean said the familiar spiel, feeling warmth course through her. She was Mrs. Blake as well now, the golden ring on her finger reminded her.

"This is a collect call from Charlie Davis. Will you accept it?" an operator's voice droned out mechanically.

Jean blinked, surprised. She was excited to hear from Charlie after the last two weeks of silence, but she was also hit by worry. Why would Charlie call collect?

"Yes, I accept," she said and her tone must've conveyed her surprise, as both Lucien and Matthew looked at her with raised eyebrows. She mouthed 'Charlie' at them.

"Doc?" came the voice that sounded familiar yet strange at the same time. Jean instantly frowned.

"No, this is Jean. Charlie, is that you?" she had to ask to make sure. She heard the chair behind her move and felt Lucien's presence next to her.

"Yeah, it's me," Charlie said and some of the usual warmth was back in his voice. "Thanks for taking the call. I ran out of change."

"Of course. Is everything alright? We haven't heard from you for ages. Even Matthew was getting worried."

"I was not!" Lawson called out, though it was only half-hearted. Charlie chuckled.

"I bet he was. I'm sorry... I was a bit... held up."

Something about the sentence felt wrong, but Jean didn't have time to ponder it. Blake was looking at her questioningly, most likely reading her expression as worried.

"Is everything alright, Charlie?"

There was a short pause and Jean clutched the receiver a bit harder.

"Charlie?"

"Yeah, don't worry. It's fine. I just... is the Doc there? I need to talk to him."

"Yes, of course. I'll pass you to him right away. Are you coming home soon?" she added the question, even as Lucien was reaching towards the phone.

"I hope so," Charlie said and it sounded so weary that Jean actually wanted to ask more. But Lucien was looking at her expectantly now, so with a sigh, she bid her farewell to Charlie and handed over the phone.

"Charlie? We were starting to think you found love in Sydney and absconded with her for a secret honeymoon," Blake joked, hoping to ease the sudden tension in the room. He heard a snort on the other side.

"I wish," Charlie said and the smile left Blake's face as he turned serious. He could hear the crack in Charlie's voice.

"What's going on?" he decided to cut to the chase. "Are you in some trouble, Charlie?"

There was a momentary pause. Blake could hear traffic in the background, the rustle of the wind and Charlie's careful breathing. It sounded like he was outside.

"Sort of. Doc... I need to ask you a favour," Charlie said, slowly, as if afraid he would be denied on the spot.

"Of course. What do you need?"

"I... I know you might be busy, but..."

"Charlie," Blake rebuked him. "If you need help, I'm pretty sure I can clear up my schedule."

"No dead bodies lying around?" Charlie joked slightly, clearly trying to get the courage to ask.

"Not one. Now speak."

"Could you maybe... pick me up in Wagga Wagga?"

"Wagga Wagga?" Blake's eyes widened. "That's quite a distance. What are you doing there?"

"I'm not there yet," Charlie said and the tone of his voice changed. "Sorry. I know it's a long drive, but I don't have the money for the ticket home. But if it's a problem, I think I might try and catch a ride with-" Charlie was rambling.

"Don't be ridiculous," Blake stopped him right then and there. "Of course I will come. But it will take me maybe six hours to get there."

"That's alright. it will take me almost as long to get there too," Charlie said and the relief was clear in his voice. Blake however only felt his worry deepen.

"Where are you now, Charlie?"

"I don't have a clue. One town over from Leighton I suppose."

Blake frowned, taken aback.

"That's pretty far. How are you going to get to Wagga Wagga?"

"Bus. If you can meet me at the bus station?"

"Of course," Blake waved it off. "Are you in trouble, Charlie?"

There was a sigh on the other end.

"I'm not sure anymore, Doc. It's a long story."

Blake wanted to say he had time, but he was getting more and more worried and thought he would prefer to do so in person. He had more pressing questions on his mind.

"Are you in any danger right now?"

He felt Jean tense next to him and Lawson's chair had creaked as well as the man got up.

"I don't think so. I'll be on the bus shortly. Should be safe," Charlie said wearily.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Doc," Charlie dismissed the question.

"That wasn't a no," Blake noted duly.

"Nothing you can't fix," Charlie admitted.

"That's hardly making me feel better," Blake grumbled.

"I'm alright," Charlie said reassuringly. "Will be better once I get home though."

Blake nodded.

"Do you want me to bring Matthew along?" Blake wasn't sure what kind of trouble Charlie managed to get himself in, but he had a feeling having a cop along might be beneficial. However, Charlie quickly vetoed that idea.

"No, that's okay. It would be suspicious if you both left town."

"Suspicious?" Blake's brows rose.

"I can't explain now, just..." Charlie paused. "Is the boss still there?" he asked, somewhat dejectedly.

"Yes, he most definitely is."

Charlie sighed.

"Can you just tell him to... act normal? If anyone calls... and I mean _anyone_ , asking about me... tell them you haven't heard from me for the last few weeks. Please?"

Now Blake knew for sure Charlie got himself into something deep. Which meant, discretion was the better part of valour indeed.

"Alright, I will make sure no one says anything."

"Thanks Doc. Uh... I gotta go. I think my bus is leaving soon."

"I'm heading out as well. Take care, Charlie. See you soon."

"Thanks, Doc," Charlie repeated. "See you soon."

The phone clicked and the line went dead.

"What the hell is going on?" Lawson asked the glaring question.

"I don't have a clue. Charlie got into some trouble and needs a ride."

"What trouble? Is he alright? He didn't sound good," Jean asked, worried. Blake raised a hand.

"I don't know what happened or what state he is in. The sooner I leave though the sooner we will have some answers. Matthew..." Blake turned to face the man. "Charlie asked that if anyone calls or asks about his whereabouts, we play dumb. Do you have any idea what that's about?"

Lawson shook his head, thoughtful.

"Not an idea. Last thing I heard about Davis was that he was sent on some special training to an undisclosed location and that he will be returning within the month. His mother had called yesterday, complaining that she haven't heard from Charlie in a while. She said he called her few weeks back warning her about being unable to call regularly, but she felt it was getting too long. I had to reassure her he was just off somewhere in the wild without access to a phone."

Blake grimaced. It seemed like the 'special training' went a bit haywire... or it was all a rouse.

"Well, I suppose we will learn soon enough what's going on. For now, let's trust Charlie knows what he's doing and follow his lead."

"I would have preferred to have a chance to talk to him," Lawson grumbled.

"Sorry, Matthew. He was heading for the bus. And I should get ready and head out as well. Sooner I leave, sooner we get home."

Lawson nodded grimly, shooting one look at his half-eaten breakfast. His appetite seemed to have gone all of a sudden.

"I suppose I better head out as well. If you encounter some trouble, call!" Matthew added strongly. Blake nodded only half heartedly. He doubted there was much Matthew could do if trouble got them such a long way from Ballarat but he wasn't about to voice it. His mind was already running ahead, thinking about whether he had enough gas or how badly was Charlie hurt. Because it was clear to Blake that whatever trouble Charlie encountered, it didn't leave him unscathed. He should probably take his medical bag... and add a few items. Just in case.

"Jean dear, could you please put some tea into a thermos for me?" he turned to his wife, who nodded.

"I'll pack some snacks too, so you and Charlie don't go hungry," she said promptly and Blake saw her brow furrow a bit, a clear sign she was worried. Blake was pretty sure that while he will be driving, Jean would bustle around the house nervously and cook up a feast, to make sure Charlie had a warm welcome.

"Thank you dear," he said with a smile and pulled her close for a moment to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Lawson behind them let out a long suffering sigh.

"Alright, I'm heading out. You," he waited until Blake broke away from Jean and gave him a look. "Bring the kid back home."

Blake nodded.

That was exactly what he was planning to do.

* * *

The shock absorbers on the bus must've been broken. Charlie couldn't otherwise explain why he felt every damn pebble on the road. Surely, it wasn't common for the bus to jump around like on a rally?

"Everything alright, young man?"

Charlie turned his head slightly to the right, plastering on a fake smile. The older lady had settled next to him before they even pulled out of the station. The bus was fairly filled, so Charlie couldn't very well protest, even though he would have preferred to have the seat next to him empty.

"Yes, everything's fine," he said, holding back a wince as the bus must've ran over a whole cow. Or maybe not, seeing as the old lady didn't even twitch at the motion. She just kept giving him a dubious look, while putting down her crossword.

"Well, your fine looks like it went five rounds with a bulldozer," she said with a raised brow. Charlie didn't know what to say. He felt like he was being scolded by his long dead grandmother.

"Uh... it wasn't a bulldozer," he mumbled. And it felt more like ten rounds, but he wasn't going to say that.

The old lady chuckled then reached into her pocket pulling out a bag.

"Peanuts?" she offered.

Charlie softly shook his head.

"No, but thank you."

She didn't take no for an answer obviously as she kept crinkling the small paper bag in front of him until he relented and took a few pieces.

Satisfied, she put the bag into her lap and focused back on her crossword.

Charlie let out a sigh of relief. Maybe if he closed his eyes, just for a moment, the time would pass by faster. He leaned his head against the window but quickly pulled it back. The vibrations of the engine did nothing for his headache. Grimacing, he leaned his head against the backrest and hunkered down a bit. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but the only one he could have without leaning against the old woman's shoulder.

Blake was coming.

Charlie knew it was selfish of him, to make the man drive such a distance when he could have just as well gone to Sydney, got in touch with O'Leary and then headed home with clear conscience. Problem was, he was already feeling on the verge of collapse, and that was only the first half hour of the ride. There was no saying what state he would be in the ten hours it would take to reach Sydney... not in these uncomfortable seats and without meds. He dreaded the thought he wouldn't even make it there and would collapse somewhere midway, without his ID, without any kind of protection. A stranger in a strange land.

No... Charlie would much rather be in Blake's debt than risk that.

He dreaded the moment they would meet. All the questions he would undoubtedly be subjected to. He also couldn't wait... for it would mean he could finally rest, knowing there will be someone guarding his back.

Charlie wasn't sure how much time had passed. Maybe an hour or two. He was almost becoming accustomed to the rattling of the bus when the tires screeched and it came to a sudden stop. Charlie's body slammed against the window, his side smacking against the casted hand.

Charlie felt something rip, white hot pain shooting through his abdomen. He hissed and leaned over, trying to catch his breath.

The driver cursed loudly and Charlie thought he caught sight of a kangaroo hopping away. The passengers around grumbled a bit, but none of them seemed to be hurt.

Charlie shut his eyes tight, trying to control his breathing even as the bus started up again.

"Here here, are you alright?" the woman was rubbing at his back soothingly. Charlie wanted to ask her to stop, but it was actually helping to divert his attention from the discomfort. He was pretty sure he might've just torn a stitch or two, but he definitely wasn't about to check. After a minute the initial pain had eased up as well. With gritted teeth and feeling slightly faint, Charlie slowly leaned back against the seat.

"Do you need some help?" the woman asked and Charlie shook his head.

"No, I'll be okay," he said, hoping his voice wasn't shaking.

"You're white as a ghost," she argued.

"It'll pass," Charlie argued. "I just need to rest a bit."

"Of course. Some sleep might help you."

Charlie would've liked to do just that, but he was vary. He wasn't going all the way after all.

"Uh... I don't want to miss my stop," he said with a grimace.

"Well, where is it? I am getting off in Sydney, so I can wake you up."

Charlie shot her a look.

"What if you'll want to rest?"

The woman rolled her eyes.

"Please. I can barely sleep during the night, do you think I will fall asleep now that I have such interesting company?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

She raised her book of crosswords and winked.

He couldn't stop the chuckle, followed by a wince. But it was worth it.

"Wagga Wagga. If you could... wake me up before that."

She nodded.

"Of course. That's only a few hours now anyway."

Few hours, but for Charlie it seemed an eternity. He looked out of the window, watching the road for a short while, hoping no one was following. As he watched the occasional mulga and gum trees flash by his window, his eyes closed.

Someone was shaking his shoulder. The movement sent spikes of pain through his whole body and Charlie's first instinct was to lash out. But a smell of peanuts stopped him. His brain made the connection and he blinked, staring at the thoughtful face of an old woman.

"Whazza?" he asked, his mouth taking a second to catch up with his brain.

"Your stop is coming," the woman said gently. "I thought you might need a few minutes to wake up properly."

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks," Charlie muttered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He felt... strange. Half asleep still and a bit woozy. He would have closed his eyes and went back to sleep, but then he realized what the woman said.

He was almost there. And if everything went okay, Blake should be there too. Charlie looked at his watch. Almost six hours had passed since the phone call. Which meant he might have to wait for the Doc at the station... Charlie grimaced at the thought. Last thing he wanted was to stand around in an unfamiliar bus station, waiting. But if that was what it took to be on his way home, so be it.

"I surely hope there is someone waiting for you there," the woman noted, as if reading Charlie's own thoughts.

"Yeah... there should be. Don't worry," he said with a small smile.

He took the few minutes to try and get a handle over his body. He could feel a strange pull at the stab wound and a dampness that made him run a hand under his shirt. The bandage did feel damp, but Charlie's fingers didn't come off sticky with blood yet. He counted that as success and decided to leave the whole thing be for the time.

His leg felt stiff too, the bandage just a bit too tight, but in order to slacken it Charlie would have to lean over. He wasn't planning to do that anytime soon.

A shiver ran over his body and he zipped up the jacket, as much to keep warm as to hide any possible evidence.

It was enough that Blake would see his bruised face right away and the messed up hands. Anything else Charlie could most likely hide until they arrived home. That should give him plenty of time to convince Blake to let him hide in the house for a day or two.

Finally, the bus was pulling into the station. The old lady had gotten up to make way for Charlie. It was bit of a struggle to pull past her and the other passengers, and Charlie grunted when he had to push past a large guy. His shoulder brushed against Charlie' s tender side. It was only with gritted teeth that he half stepped half stumbled out of the bus.

He stepped aside to let two more people get out and leaned against the bus for a moment. He heard knocking above his head. A bit surprised, he looked up to see the old lady' s face against the window, giving him a smile and a wave. Charlie waved back then found the strength to push away from the bus. He looked around, eyes searching, heart fluttering when he didn't see the familiar car.

'Relax. You just arrived earlier,' Charlie thought, trying to calm down. He just needed to find a spot, preferably somewhere where he could sit down and wait. Blake would come.

The bus pulled away from the curb, continuing on its destination to Sydney. There were several people around, waiting for other busses. Charlie was trying to find the parking lot. All he saw was the building of the bus station. His sight landed on the benches in front of it. That would have to do. As long as no one called the police on him, thinking he was a bum.

He was almost there when he saw a shadow that wasn't his own catch up to him. Feeling paranoid, Charlie decided he didn't like anyone coming up from behind. He turned around.

The movement was too fast. His head spun and instead of glaring at his follower, he swayed dizzily.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, either for support or restrain, he didn't know.

* * *

The drive seemed to take forever, especially not knowing what was waiting for him on the other end. He kept looking at his watch and with every look his foot pressed harder against the gas pedal.

He should've known that something was wrong. Hell, even Matthew seemed to be worried after the first week of silence. But every time the man inquired, he was given the same answer. Charlie would return shortly, not to worry.

Blake wondered why a simple training would stop the young sergeant from calling them, but then he figured he was just being too used to the lad's company. Things were bound to change, especially after he and Jean finally married.

Even though he knew Charlie was happy for them, Blake felt that the man was becoming restless. His relationship with Rose seemed to be on hold and Blake knew Charlie craved a family, a purpose. That must've been the reason why he went off for the detective training.

Blake didn't fault him for that. He actually understood. Maybe that was why he was less concerned about Charlie's sudden silence. Blake thought it might've been Charlie trying to give them some space after the honeymoon, or perhaps even Charlie trying to find his own place outside of Ballarat. While that thought sent a shiver of apprehension through Blake' s stomach, he knew there would be a moment when Charlie would leave them. Just like Mattie did. To pursue career, get a wife and kids of his own. Leaving the nest, like every other kid.

Blake shook his head. Charlie wasn't his kid, just like Mattie wasn't his daughter, but that didn't mean he didn't think fondly of them. That they weren't part of the Blake family.

The thought made him feel warmth but also worry. Because it seemed that Charlie did manage to get himself into some sort of trouble... and Blake was still at least an hour away from reaching him.

With a sigh, Blake looked at a passing sign. Wagga Wagga... 89 kilometres. Well. Maybe if he drove just a bit faster, he could make it under an hour.


	13. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read and reviewed so far! We have reached the middle of the story, the part that focuses more on fixing Charlie up. While I tried to keep this as medically accurate as possible, I am no expert so please, take it all with a grain of salt:) I'd also like to warn for some possible blood and medical procedures and such in the following chapters. Hope you don't mind. After all, this is a whump fic :D

For a moment, Blake thought he arrived too early. Or maybe too late. He saw a bus with destination Sydney pulling out of the station just as he parked the car near the building. He exited the car and headed towards where the bus had pulled out of. There were several people milling around or just waiting. Most of them had some luggage.

Blake carefully scanned the faces, looking for the familiar one. His heart sank a bit when he couldn't spot him.

Did he miss Charlie? Or was that the wrong bus?

Blake was about to head inside the building and ask about arrivals. Maybe Charlie was waiting there.

He almost missed him.

At first sight Blake thought it was some hoodlum. The clothes and the hoodie were underlining the overall hunched form and a limp. All Blake could see was the back of the man and he watched the unsteady gait more out of morbid curiosity. Was the man injured? Drugged?

They seemed to be heading the same way and as such, Blake had a good view. In a moment he would catch up and pass the man by. He really hoped it was just some poor drunk bastard in need of sleeping off a long night of a binge and not someone in need of help. Right now Blake's priority was one missing sergeant. He couldn't be losing time with strangers...

The man in front of him pulled his hand out of his pocket, letting it swing by his side.

Blake followed the motion absent-mindedly. Until the fingers twitched in that damningly familiar pattern.

Blake froze.

Could it be?

The hunched form was deceptive, but now that he looked Blake thought the height was mostly right. And if one would forget the limp, the gait was familiar.

Blake quickened his steps, determined to see who the man was. Because it surely couldn't be someone who he had seen only few weeks back, healthy and hale.

In hindsight, Blake knew he should have called out. Anyone would be startled by a sudden presence tailing them in silence. Thing was, Blake didn't really believe it could've been Charlie.

And when the man spun around, eyes wide and woozy, for a second Blake was sure he made a mistake.

This man had a stubble that did nothing to cover the bruises and scrapes underneath. A split lip, a bloodshot eye and a crudely stitched up cut on the eyebrow...

But then there was the familiar blue colour staring at him with momentary panic. He saw those eyes go unfocused, the body swaying.

Blake's hand tightened its hold on the shoulder, his other arm grabbing at the jacket.

„Bloody hell, Charlie!" Blake grunted and was thankful for the fact they were only few meters from a bench.

At first, Charlie's body stiffened at Blake's touch and he sensed that it was in a fight or flight mode.

„It's me, Charlie. Lucien," he said soothingly and let out a sigh of relief when Charlie's eyes focused on his face. It was as if someone had cut the cords. Charlie's knees seemed to go weak and Blake grunted as he felt more weight fall into his arms.

„Doc," Charlie said, his right hand reaching up to grasp Blake's arm, the one that was propping him up by the jacket. As if he wanted to make sure Blake wasn't just some hallucination, that he was real. The relief in that one word made Blake's heart clench. What the hell had happened to his young friend?

„Come on, let's sit down," Blake said and led Charlie towards the bench. They both plopped down on it heavily.

For a minute they sat there in silence. Charlie seemed to be trying to calm down and get a hold of himself, while Blake was trying to figure out how he got into the state he was currently in. Finally, the dizzy spell seemed to abate and Charlie raised his head, looking at Blake.

„Will I have to arrest you for breaking all speed limits?" Charlie asked, his face cracking up in a smile.

Blake wanted to smack him on the head.

„I'm pretty sure we are out of your jurisdiction," Blake answered curtly. „What on earth happened to you, Charlie?"

The smile slipped from Charlie's face and Blake almost regretted his tone. That was until Charlie replied with his usual „I'm fine, Doc."

Blake's eyes narrowed.

„I am pretty sure I've autopsied corpses that looked healthier than you," he said and Charlie cringed.

„I think I just need a shave and a shower," he tried to argue.

Blake reached up, gently grasping Charlie's chin and turning his face towards him, inspecting.

„I can tell some of the bruises are at least a week old. Some are fresh. Your hand is in a cast, you are limping and about to crash. So tell me again that all you need is a shower, and I swear I will drive you home and leave you to the mercy of Matthew and Jean."

Charlie cringed.

„You wouldn't do that," he muttered.

Blake sighed and his hand moved to Charlie's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze.

„I'm sorry, Doc," Charlie said and the look on his face made Blake regret his words almost instantly. „These last few weeks were hell. It's a long story, and I just... I need to get home."

Blake nodded. He could sympathize with that. More than anything, he wanted to be off the street and the curious looks of passersby's.

„Alright. Let's get you in the car now and you can tell me everything on the road. It'll be a long ride anyway."

Charlie looked like he wanted to protest, but then he just gave a nod. Obviously the lad wasn't as delirious as to think that Blake wouldn't ask any questions.

„Good boy. Now... can you make it to the car? Or do I need to pull up here?"

„Where is it?" Charlie asked, looking around with a frown.

„Just on the other side of the building. Not that far."

„Oh. Alright. I can make it."

Blake wasn't sure if Charlie really believed that, but that didn't matter.

„I'll help. Come on, lean on me."

With some reluctance and grunting, they both got up. Blake could tell almost instantly there was something wrong with Charlie's side as he winced at the slightest pressure.

„Did you hurt your ribs?" Blake asked as they were making a slow and slightly drunken looking way towards the car.

Charlie grimaced, obviously trying to keep back a grunt of pain.

„Bruised," he said but didn't elaborate. He even seemed to straighten up a bit, as if trying to prove he was indeed alright. Blake decided to leave the questions for the car.

Finally they made it there. Charlie shot the Holden a look of fondness and without hesitation slipped onto the passenger seat. Blake watched as he leaned back carefully, then let out a sigh of relief, more tension leaving his shoulders.

Blake settled on the driver seat but didn't start the car right away, which earned him a curious look from Charlie.

„Doc?"

„I am just thinking if it wouldn't be better to take you to a hotel to get a night's rest, before the drive."

Charlie shook his head.

„No. The less trail we leave behind, the better," he said wearily.

„What trail? Who is after you?" Blake asked with a frown. Charlie grimaced.

„Can we just... drive? I'll... tell you in a bit."

Blake clenched his teeth. He wanted answers right now, but recognized that if there was indeed someone after Charlie, getting out of town might be prudent. Not to mention, maybe on the road Charlie would feel more relaxed and tell him what was going on.

„Alright. There's a thermos with tea and some cookies from Jean if you're hungry," Blake said nodding towards the back seat.

„I'm good, Doc. Thanks. I had some peanuts on the way."

Blake raised an eyebrow, curious about the slightly amused tone.

They drove for a few minutes, navigating the streets of Wagga Wagga. Charlie was shooting looks into the rear-view mirror, making sure no one was trailing them, while Blake was shooting looks at Charlie, silently observing.

The man looked like he had been in a rather violent pub brawl. The only problem with that theory was the different ages of the bruises.

„You look like you got into several different fights," Blake couldn't help but state.

Charlie startled, looking at him a bit sheepishly.

„That's... accurate."

Blake frowned.

„Why didn't you call for help sooner? You know me or Matthew would have picked you up anywhere."

Charlie gave a nod. He knew that.

„There was nothing you could've done. The fights were planned."

Blake almost stepped on the breaks.

„What?" he looked at Charlie with disbelief. „You're not a fighter, Charlie."

„I know that, thanks," Charlie said and was it a pout on his face? Blake wondered if he didn't just offend his friend.

„I didn't mean you can't hold yourself in a fight. I never knew you to start one though."

Charlie let out a sigh and grimaced slightly. Blake's eyes narrowed. He decided that whether Charlie liked it or not, he would stop at the nearest rest and check him out. He was already keeping the car speed under the limit, to make the drive as comfortable as possible. Even if it meant arriving home an hour later than it took him to get there.

„Believe me Doc, I wasn't too keen on the idea either," Charlie answered to his comment.

„Then what happened? Was this part of your special training?"

Now it was Charlie's turn to look confused.

„What training?" he asked and Blake told him about the call from Sydney. Charlie's face darkened a bit but he nodded.

„That must've been O'Leary," he muttered. „I thought he would tell Boss a bit more. I thought he would at least make a call after what happened last night."

„Last night? Charlie, you were gone for over two weeks without a word. What in bloody hell were you doing?" Blake couldn't keep the worry and exasperation out of his voice any longer. Charlie's face turned towards the window in contemplation, though Blake could see him biting at his lower lip nervously.

"Charlie," Blake said, his tone gentle and trying to convey that he was only worried. It seemed to work. Charlie sighed and while he kept his eyes trained on the road ahead, he started recounting his last two weeks.

Blake listened in silence, only occasionally interrupting with a question. He was trying to keep his voice calm, even though his grip on the wheel got tighter by minute. Blake was sure Charlie was skimming over the events, leaving out facts in lieu of downplaying the danger he truly found himself in.

Blake didn't press him over that. He knew that once they arrived home, Lawson would require a much more detailed report and Charlie won't be able to pretend the whole case was just a semi-uncomfortable trip resulting in a few bruises. Not like he was trying to do now.

"So... let me get this straight," Blake spoke when Charlie was done telling him about the second fight. "You had... no backup at all?"

Charlie blinked.

"I did. Johnson."

"Who didn't know where the hell you were... or even if you were alive?" Blake said through gritted teeth.

Charlie averted his eyes, giving a slight shrug.

"Bloody hell, Charlie!" Blake shook his head, exasperated. "And when you finally got to a phone, instead of calling us or getting the hell out of there, you decided to stay!"

Blake wasn't sure what he was more angry about. The fact some idiot in Sydney sent Charlie out to what could've amounted to a suicide mission or the fact Charlie had been effectively held hostage for two weeks while he and Lawson were fiddling their thumbs and thinking all was well with the world. And all the backup Charlie was offered was some young cop that most likely didn't have a clue how to truly handle the situation.

"I couldn't just leave, Doc," Charlie said wearily and it was that tone that forced Blake to take a few calming breaths. He was going off at the wrong person... or maybe at a wrong time. If he kept this up, Charlie would clam up and they would have to pry every little detail from him by force. Blake didn't want that.

"I understand that," Blake admitted. Hell, he most likely would've acted the same as Charlie, especially if there was an innocent kid involved. Right now, however, his only concern was the man on the passenger seat. "I would've still preferred you stayed unharmed."

Charlie's lips quirked.

"I would've preferred that too," he said, looking at Blake with amusement.

Blake let out a sigh and nodded for Charlie to continue. He had a feeling whatever came next was going to make him only more horrified, at least if the look of discomfort on Charlie's face was anything to go by.

Or maybe it wasn't the topic of their conversation at all.

Blake had noticed that Charlie had unzipped his jacket a while ago, but didn't seem inclined to take it off. Instead he hid his right hand under the jacket. Blake was sure he was cradling his ribs, trying to keep them protected from the car's movement. He didn't plan on commenting, deciding to first hear out Charlie's whole story. That didn't last long however.

Charlie had been licking at his lips more often so Blake had offered him the thermos with the tea. Charlie had to relinquish his hold on the ribs to grab the thermos. He was taking careful sips, quite clearly trying not to inhale it all in one swallow, when Blake caught sight of red on his fingers.

At first glance, Blake thought it was just the rawness of scraped up knuckles. But as Charlie stilled a bit, Blake noticed that the red was on his fingertips. He was pretty sure it wasn't there before. His eyes narrowed.

Without commenting, Blake let Charlie finish drinking. He scanned the road ahead, looking for a spot to park. They were out of Wagga Wagga already. While Blake would have preferred a rest stop, he was quite done waiting.

Charlie put down the thermos, pausing for a second. Blake watched from the corner of his eye as Charlie swiftly hid his hand inside his jacket, clearing his throat. Blake wanted to take pity on him, he did. But then he realized that Charlie had no intention at all to cue him in on the problem and that just made his irritation grow.

So he let Charlie tell him a surely censored version of the third and final fight.

"Johnson and the backup finally arrived," Charlie was saying just as Blake spotted the right place. "They stopped the fight... caught most of the people involved."

Blake nodded, slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. It was as good place as any. There was a huge gum tree providing a bit of cover from the road, not that there was much traffic. Blake could count on one hand the number of cars they encountered once leaving Wagga Wagga.

The sudden stop seemed to surprise Charlie. He was looking at Blake with confusion, his eyes looking back at the road, as if expecting to see company.

"Doc? What's going on?"

Blake turned the engine off, giving Charlie a hard stare.

Charlie squirmed in the seat.

"I'd like to know that too. Is there anything you want to tell me, Charlie?"

Blake was still giving him a chance to come clean himself.

Charlie's eyes seemed suddenly incapable of holding his look.

"I just did," Charlie hedged. "Doc? We should really-"

Blake was about fed up. He reached out and tugged at Charlie's arm, the one hidden under the jacket. Charlie hissed, but didn't really fight back. His hand slid out and as Blake wrapped his hand around the slightly shaking wrist, they both saw fresh spots of blood coating the pale fingertips.

"Care to explain this?'

* * *

Charlie thought he might've gotten away with it. But maybe he just forgot how observant Blake could be. He noticed the blood as he was putting down the thermos and shot a look at Blake but the man was staring ahead at the road. Charlie let out a sigh of relief. He knew he would have to come clean sooner or later, but seeing how exasperated Blake was getting by his description of events, Charlie thought later was better. Give him some time to calm down.

Unfortunately, the man seemed to have other plans. The car came to a halt and Charlie was a bit startled by the sudden silence. His eyes automatically shot towards the road. Did the doc see something? Was someone following them? But then, stopping would hardly make any sense.

He shot a confused look at Blake.

"Doc? What's going on?"

Charlie was a bit taken aback by the hard look he received in reply.

"I'd like to know that too. Is there anything you want to tell me, Charlie?"

Charlie most definitely didn't. Also, what the hell was the man's problem? It wasn't like Charlie was holding back. He was spilling his gut all the way from Wagga Wagga.

"I just did," Charlie said, feeling a bit annoyed. Really... all he wished was to get home as soon as possible. Did the man have to make it so difficult? "Doc? We should really-"

He was too startled to react when Blake suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled at it. Charlie hissed, the movement jarring several painful spots. Blake didn't seem to care though, too focused on his goal. Charlie didn't have the strength or the will to fight him off anyway, so with an air of defeat he allowed the man to grasp his wrist, showing bloodied fingers.

"Care to explain this?"

"Forgot to wash my hands?" Charlie answered flippantly. Really, what answer did Blake expect?

Basing on the annoyed frown on his face, this wasn't it.

Charlie sighed.

"It's fine, Doc. I think I just torn some stitches on the bus drive."

"Stitches. For what?"

"Uh..." Now, Charlie would have definitely preferred to be closer to home before revealing that he was stabbed. Spending the next five or so hours in the car with Blake while getting a lecture about stab wounds wasn't his idea of a fun ride. "It's just a scratch," he tried. After all... Johnson said it didn't hit any organs. Or something to that effect. Charlie was a bit hazy on the details.

Blake's eyes narrowed more.

"A scratch. That required stitches."

Charlie nodded, but he wasn't looking at Blake. Instead, he was perusing his reddened fingers. He wished he could wash his hands. The sight of blood and the stickiness coating his fingertips was making him feel kind of dizzy.

"Charlie?" Blake asked and Charlie felt the man's hand move around his wrist. Now it wasn't gripping it with force, but rather gently. Fingers pushed just below the thumb.

Charlie tried to tug his hand away but the grip tightened. He groaned, realizing there was no escaping the man's clutches now. Dejectedly, Charlie leaned his head back against the seat, finding sudden interest in the roof of the car. Did it always have that wavy pattern?

"Your pulse is a bit fast..." Blake's palm brushed over Charlie's face and neck. "And you're warm."

"I've a jacket on," Charlie muttered in explanation.

"And why is that?"

"Because it's cold in here?"

It was hardly his fault the car's heating was broken.

"It most definitely is not," Blake argued, but it was clear his thoughts were somewhere else. He finally let go of Charlie's hand, instead giving him a frustratingly knowing look. Charlie felt like a bug under the microscope... or a bee trapped inside a car. His instinct was to zip up the jacket more and burrow himself in the seat, preferably until they reached Ballarat. But that would require the car moving... which it wasn't.

"Charlie," Blake said again, though this time the tone was filled only with concern. The reproach was clearly pushed into the background for the sake of the moment, which Charlie appreciated.

"Can you just drive, Doc?" Charlie asked, hoping he didn't sound like a whiny kid. But he was really tired of everything and would have appreciated a moment of... rest.

"Will you let me fix the problem first though?"

Charlie frowned, a bit confused. He didn't have a problem. Then he caught Blake's nod towards his right hand, which was now curled into a fist to hide the evidence and the occasional trembling.

"Oh," Charlie understood then. And tried, with his fuzzy brain to decide whether it would be better to just let Blake do his thing. Maybe he could stop the bleeding and give him something for the pain that way. Because the pain meds Charlie got at the hospital had most definitely worn off if all the aches and discomfort were anything to go by.

"Alright," he finally relented.

"Good boy," Blake said with a sudden smile and Charlie thought grumpily the man shouldn't look so happy about it. „Let me see that scratch of yours."

Charlie reluctantly unzipped the rest of his jacket. He cringed at seeing the dark spot that formed on the borrowed sweatshirt. He carefully pulled up the hem, knowing well what he would find. He wasn't disappointed.

Next to him Blake softly cursed. Charlie let the sweatshirt fall back down.

„It's no-„ Charlie didn't finish. He could feel Blake's warning glare burning a hole into his flesh, so he shut up. Without a word, Blake stepped out of the car. Charlie thought he might've gone for a breather. Did he really piss him off that much? Charlie's brow furrowed. An image of Blake leaving him on the side of the road and driving off popped into his mind. He shook it off. That was stupid. What the hell was he even thinking?

Blake would never do something like that.

Of course he wouldn't.

Even as Charlie was trying to shake off the strange thoughts, the door on his side had opened. Charlie flinched when he saw Blake reaching towards him. Blake paused.

„May I?" he asked, nodding towards Charlie's side.

Charlie gulped, feeling stupid for his reaction. He didn't understand why he was so twitchy. His body just felt on edge and he had trouble thinking straight. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the image of Kendrick, towering over him threateningly with the sewing needle.

„Sorry," he muttered in embarrassment while Blake still waited for his assent. „Yeah, go ahead." To show his willingness to cooperate and not to make a bigger fool of himself, Charlie moved his left arm out of the way, even tried to pull the shirt back up. His fingers were shaking though, so when Blake took over, he let him.

The bandage was soaked through with blood. True, it most likely wasn't bleeding as much as when he was stabbed, but it had bled enough to make Charlie worried. If he lost too much blood he was sure Blake would drop him off at the nearest hospital, which would make this whole trip just another unnecessary trial of pain.

Blake for his part was silent, though Charlie could see the frown on his face deepening. When he peeled off the bandage, he stilled.

"I realize you didn't study medicine," he spoke, his voice low and obviously trying to hold back an outburst, "but _this_ is far from a scratch." He pointed at the jagged edges of the stab wound. Charlie cringed. During his trip he had managed to somehow rip open most of the stitches, leaving a slowly oozing wound. The sight was not pretty, and the pain was worse.

Seeing the wound seemed to awaken his brain, which made the connection and the pain intensified. Charlie grunted, his breathing stilling for a second, as if hoping it would make things better. It didn't.

"Uh... there... might've been a knife involved," Charlie admitted and hissed as Blake touched the skin above the cut, perusing the wound.

"You think so?" Blake commented with sarcasm.

Charlie didn't speak. He held still although everything in him screamed to pull away. Blake looked at his face and let out a sigh.

"Alright, I need to fix this properly," he said and straightened. "Can you take off your jacket and the shirt please?"

Charlie hesitated.

"I don't want to mess up your car," he mumbled.

"I think the upholstery is the least of our concern right now Charlie," Blake said, exasperated. Charlie didn't protest anymore. He managed with the jacket, albeit it was a fight. The sweatshirt though was impossible to take off without help. Blake took pity on him and with some manoeuvring managed the task. Charlie was sure it wasn't necessary. He could've just as well held up the hem, but Blake seemed adamant.

"I want to make sure it's the only 'scratch' we have to deal with," he told Charlie upon hearing the grumbled protests. Charlie went silent.

Finally, the shirt was gone and Charlie was left shivering only with his pants on. He really hoped no car would be passing by anytime soon, though Blake at least parked them in such a way his seat was covered by the tree trunk from the road.

Blake stood next to the door for a moment, eyes roaming up and down Charlie's chest and back. Charlie sat there shivering and hoping the ground would swallow him. He didn't really dare to look at himself, not after he caught sight of the bruises in the rear-view mirror. So he was staring out the window instead, until he got tired of the cold.

"Doc?" he asked, pulling Blake from his thoughts.

Blake cleared his throat, then gave a nod.

"Of course," he muttered and reached onto the backseat for his medical bag. Obviously he came prepared.

"Can you turn a bit?" Blake asked as he squatted down to pull some bandages from his bag. Charlie reluctantly did so. Blake looked up and that's when he noticed the sewn up cut on Charlie's forearm and the bandage on Charlie's right elbow. His eyes narrowed once again.

"What's that?"

Charlie followed his look and shrugged.

"Oh, that. I told Erik the band aid would do," Charlie said dismissively.

"Erik?"

"The cop, my guard at the..." Charlie paused, then with a sigh added: "-hospital."

Blake looked at him expectantly.

"Why was _Erik_ in charge of band aids at the hospital?"

Charlie decided looking at his lap was probably better than being subjected to Blake's fierce gaze.

"Charlie! I'm talking to you," Blake said, tapping Charlie's chin.

"I couldn't wait around for a nurse," Charlie said, which in hindsight he realized wasn't exactly informative to Blake.

"What's wrong with your arm Charlie?" Blake asked the question, slowly as if talking to a child, which was enough of a sign that he was trying to keep hold on his annoyance. Though one look at his storming eyes told Charlie that if he kept beating about the bush, Blake would blow up soon.

Well, this was as good a time to come clean as any he supposed. Not that he had much of a choice.

"Nothing's wrong with my arm. After the nurse tried to kill me, I decided to leave the hospital. So I pulled out the IV. That's all."

Well, maybe there was too much information at once. Blake blinked, seemingly trying to digest it all.

"A nurse tried to kill you," Blake stated.

Charlie nodded.

"At a hospital."

Another nod, this time a bit more hesitant.

"Where you were because of a _stab wound_."

Charlie frowned. Why the hell was Blake repeating everything he said?

"Doc? You alright?" Maybe the drive was too long. Hell, Charlie didn't even know if the Doc hadn't spent the night up trying to solve a case. Maybe he was tired?

His confusion must've been palpable.

Blake took in a slow, measured breath.

"So if I am correct... you weren't discharged?"

Charlie shook his head.

"When did the whole stabbing occur?"

Charlie's brow furrowed in thought. He wasn't exactly sure. The night and day seemed to blur together.

"What's today?" he asked carefully.

"Thursday."

"Oh. Last night then," Charlie said, feeling relieved that he didn't lose that much time after all.

Blake didn't seem to share his elation. He was frowning at the wound as if trying to stop the bleeding by pure will. Unfortunately it didn't work.

"Doc?" Charlie was getting unnerved and frankly, the cold was getting worse. If Blake didn't start fixing the problem, he would just put the shirt back on and drive them the hell home himself. Right now the call of the bed was stronger than even his fear about Lawson's reaction.

Blake finally seemed to snap out of whatever thoughts were plaguing him. He gave Charlie a short nod.

"This will hurt a bit," he warned, before pushing a roll of bandage against the wound.

Charlie hissed, his whole body recoiling. But there was nowhere to go. Blake's other hand took firm hold of Charlie's shoulder, keeping him in place even as he pressed the bandage against the wound.

"Hold it there, and keep the pressure," Blake told him shortly, leading Charlie's right hand over his own. Once Charlie got a shaky hold of the bandage, Blake pulled out another, this time undoing it. The wrapping process was a bit awkward, especially inside the car, but they managed. By the time Blake taped off the bandage's end though, Charlie was covered in cold sweat, his breathing laboured. Blake wasn't messing around. The wrapping was tight and Charlie felt as if there was a fist pressing against the wound.

"It should stop the bleeding, at least until we get home," Blake spoke, his tone surprisingly gentle. Charlie felt a hand rest on the nape of his neck and he looked up.

"I take it you didn't stick around to get your prescriptions? Or medical file?"

Charlie shook his head. He was too tired to answer really and he worried that his voice might show his level of discomfort.

"As I thought," Blake muttered. "Let me check that nothing else is wrong, then I'll give you something for the pain, alright?"

"Sounds good," Charlie croaked out.

With more gentleness and less urgency, Blake palpated Charlie's ribs. He noted none seemed to be broken, although there might've been a crack. Not that the bruises weren't painful enough. He paid a bit more attention to Charlie's head, fingers roaming through the uncombed hair, checking for bumps. Fortunately there were none, although when he was asked to follow Blake's finger, Charlie found it a bit difficult. Though it might've been just because Charlie's eyes were too blurry from tiredness.

Finally, Blake was satisfied enough that Charlie wasn't about to drop dead and that he wasn't hiding any gunshot wounds or a severed limb. He helped Charlie back into the sweatshirt.

"Sorry about that. I should've brought some spare clothing, but it didn't occur to me," Blake apologized as he pulled the bloodied hem down back over Charlie's abdomen. Charlie shrugged it off.

"It's okay," he muttered, grimacing when his hand caught on the jacket's arm. By the time Blake helped him pull up the zipper, Charlie felt that the slightest wind could blow him over. He was drenched in sweat while shaking from cold. His lips felt parched once again and he wanted to ask Blake to hand him the thermos, when the man instead pushed a plate of cookies at him.

Charlie blinked, confused.

"Not hungry," he grumbled, looking at Blake as if he lost his mind.

"I know. But you need to eat something. I'm not giving you the painkillers on empty stomach."

Charlie weighed the benefits of the painkillers versus the fact he should eat a cookie. He still felt dizzy and slightly nauseous. But the pain didn't seem to be helping with that either and they weren't even moving. Charlie worried that the drive without any painkillers would be pure torture.

So reluctantly, he took one of Jean's chocolate chip cookies and started nibbling at it. Blake seemed pleased.

Charlie managed to force down about half of it, before he felt like choking and put it down.

"Enough," he grumbled, giving Blake a glare.

Blake ignored it, instead handed him over two pills and the tea. Charlie took this much more gratefully. Swallowing down the pills, Charlie leaned his head back on the seat and let out a sigh.

"Can we go now?" he asked, eyes closed.

"Maybe you should lie down in the back?" Blake offered. "Might be more comfortable."

Charlie just shook his head. He had enough of the cramped back seat in Johnson's car. He didn't want the humiliation of arriving home in the back, like some invalid.

"Not moving," he said without opening his eyes.

Blake let out a sigh, but didn't fight him on this. The engine turned on and the car pulled back on the road. Charlie kept his eyes closed, willing the pills to work. Willing his body to fall asleep and stay that way until they arrived home.


	14. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's time to bring Charlie home, am I right? Once again, warning for some partially graphic medical procedures. Some hurt. Some comfort. Uh... that should about cover it:) Also want to thank Mitziedits for the wonderful cover picture she created for this story! Check it out (https://imgur.com/ZNQtBcb) <3

They were maybe halfway to Ballarat. Charlie had drifted off, the pain finally dulling to manageable levels thanks to the pills Blake gave him. The sound of the engine was also lulling and giving him a sense of safety. The smell of this car was different than the one Kenneth used to drive him from one fight to other. There was the familiar scent of Blake's cologne, the still new smell of leather seats and just a hint of Jean's perfume.

While that, combined with the deep bone weariness he felt had a soothing effect on him, it still couldn't stop the nightmarish images of Caleb brandishing a knife.

_Charlie was back in the cage, once again replaying the fight. He had thrown away his knife, rather risking death than killing the boy. It didn't help though. Caleb, confused by the drugs and the demanding crowd, charged at him. Charlie grasped the hand with the knife inches from his body and they struggled for control._

_Something had to give and Charlie knew how this was going to end. He could just feel the knife piercing his skin... when the ground under him shook. There was a jolt. He felt the pain in his side, but when he took a step backwards, it wasn't him who was bleeding._

_Caleb was looking at him with wide eyed betrayal. His hands were still holding the hilt of the knife that was now embedded inside his chest._

_A trickle of blood ran down his chin as his eyes became glassy and body crumpled to the ground._

" _No!"_ _Charlie shouted, taking a leap forward in the effort to catch the boy._

Charlie's hand hit the dashboard, his eyes snapping open.

He was in the car... heading home.

_Caleb was gone._

No, he shook his head. Caleb was safe and alive. He didn't kill him.

"Alright there Charlie?" Blake was giving him a look and Charlie wasn't sure if he made a sound or not.

He swallowed and gave a nod, finding it hard to speak. His throat felt tight, his heart beating harshly against his rib cage. For a moment he thought Blake must've heard that too, how could he not?

"Charlie?"

Charlie wanted to say he was alright, that Blake should just ignore him. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend to be asleep to escape questions. But he was too afraid. Of seeing Caleb dead, killed by his own hands.

Sleep wasn't on the menu, but as soon as Charlie came to that notion, his body seemed to awaken, reminding him of all that was wrong. And something was wrong.

While the painkillers Blake gave him dulled the pain in his arm and side, they did nothing for the overall feeling of discomfort. Even though he kept the jacket on and it was positively warm in the car, Charlie felt chilled. The material of the pants seemed to be chafing the skin on his leg. No position was comfortable. Worse however was the increasing feeling of the gravity playing tricks on him. His limbs were weighing a ton while his head was about to float off.

Charlie blinked, trying to clear his eyes. The road passing by was becoming blurry and it was making him dizzy.

He felt a hand touch his arm.

"Huh?"

"I asked what's wrong, Charlie. Talk to me."

Charlie shook his head but that only seemed to make matters worse. He reached out for the dashboard, trying to use it as an anchor.

"Feel a bit... lightheaded," he managed to say, taking a few deeper breaths. Maybe he just forgot to breathe properly.

Blake's hand left his arm momentarily, as he slowed down the car and pulled over at the side of the road.

Charlie was dismayed to see that it took a moment for the road to stop rolling in front of him. He tried leaning his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.

He kept them closed even as he heard the car doors open. Blake had suddenly appeared on his left side and Charlie felt the man lift up the hem of his shirt then let out a sigh.

Charlie opened his eyes, following the look down his torso. While the bandage wasn't soaked through, several spots of blood had made it to the surface. Charlie grimaced. He didn't fancy any new attempts at stopping the bleeding, the bandage had felt tight enough as it was.

Fortunately, Blake didn't seem inclined to solve the issue either. He didn't so much as poke at the bandage, just let the shirt fall back down.

"Ts not that bad, Doc," Charlie said. "Let's keep driving."

Blake huffed, then reached out and gently turned Charlie's face to him, checking out his eyes.

"Anything else bothering you except for light-headedness?"

Charlie frowned. There was a dozen things bothering him really, but he didn't think any of them popped up suddenly.

"Don't think so. Just tired. Feeling off."

Blake nodded.

"Can you turn towards me please?"

Charlie groaned.

"Doc. I'm fine," he realized it sounded like whining, but he really didn't want to move. He was worried that any sudden movement might just make him toss the cookie he ate.

"Charlie... I'm trying to help. Isn't that why you called me?"

Charlie sighed, slowly turning towards Blake.

"I called for a ride," he muttered as Blake took hold of his right wrist and started checking his pulse.

"Well, the car and the help comes in one package. I thought you knew that," Blake said with a small smile. It turned into a frown though as he ran his hand over Charlie's forehead.

"You have a fever."

"Am I gonna live?" he asked, only half joking. At the moment he felt it could go either way.

"It depends."

Charlie's eyebrows went up.

"On Matthew and Jean's reaction once they see you," Blake added. Charlie snorted. Right. He still had to explain to his Boss everything that happened.

"Maybe you could just drop me off in Melbourne for a few days?" he tried half jokingly but Blake shook his head.

"And risk being eviscerated? I'd rather have a few more years next to my lovely wife, thank you very much."

Charlie would have smiled if he hadn't been hit by a wave of dizziness. The cookie didn't seem to sit well after all and he leaned over, groaning and praying that he wouldn't get sick. He was pretty sure the wound in his abdomen wouldn't appreciate it.

"Breathe through it," Blake spoke, rubbing a hand over Charlie's back while he sat hunched over, staring at the pavement. It took a few minutes of stillness for his stomach to settle. By that time, Charlie was trembling from cold and exhaustion, feeling like any moment the world might just turn dark around him.

Blake haven't left his side during this, only moving away for a second to grab the bottle of water and push it at Charlie.

"Take a few sips, then I think you should lie down."

Charlie grimaced, though not at the idea of getting horizontal. Rather the idea of moving to achieve it. Blake seemed to misunderstand that.

"I'm not debating this with you, Charlie. You lost who knows how much blood last night, you are still bleeding. You're dehydrated and the wound is most likely infected. Last thing I want is for you to go into shock while we are out in the middle of nowhere."

"Not arguing there, Doc," Charlie muttered dejectedly. "Just don't wanna move," he added as an explanation, looking up at Blake with weary eyes.

"Oh. Right," Blake nodded. "Don't worry, it'll take only a moment and you will be much more comfortable."

Charlie grunted. He didn't really believe him, but he could hardly argue.

"Drink a bit more if you can," Blake said, nudging the bottle back at him and Charlie paused. Where did the water come from anyway? Last time all they had was tea.

"I had to stop for gas earlier, so I grabbed water too. And juice, if you prefer that."

Charlie gave a small shake of head.

"Alright then, let's get you a bit more comfortable," Blake said as he opened the back door. He made quick work with the mess on the back seat and spent a few moments rummaging through the trunk, until he emerged, with a smile of success on his face and an old and dusty blanket in his hands.

"I knew there was something there."

Charlie shot him a doubtful look. He felt sick, but not sick enough to be wrapped up in _that_. Blake saw the look on his face and rolled his eyes.

"You can use it as a pillow," he stated and threw the bundled up blanket inside. Then he held out his hand to Charlie to help him up of the seat. Charlie wanted to decline. He wanted to get up and settle in the back without assistance. It was embarrassing enough to need to lie down at all, in the middle of the day. However, he recognized his limitations. As soon as he stood, the world had swirled and the colours turned grey. If not for the car door and Blake's arm propping him up, he would've swayed around like a scarecrow in the wind.

It took some manoeuvring which Charlie bore with a few pained grunts and clenched teeth. But soon he was mostly lying down, with his knees bent and facing the roof. With some effort he could turn just enough to see Blake once he settled back in the driver seat.

"Comfortable enough?" Blake asked, turning so he could face Charlie.

"I suppose," Charlie grunted. He had to admit, lying down seemed to make the dizziness a bit more bearable. At least he didn't have to worry about his head floating off suddenly. The blanket under his head smelled surprisingly like... grass. Or rather hay. His mind came up with several reasons why that could be and knowing Blake... he decided not to pursue the matter.

"How far home?" he asked once the car turned back to the road. He truly lost track of time and how much distance they might've covered, especially since Blake seemed to be driving below the speed limit.

"Two or three hours," Blake answered. "Depends on the speed." It was clear the man wanted to drive faster but didn't out of consideration for Charlie.

"Faster sounds good, Doc," Charlie said.

"You sure?"

"Prefer my own bed," he muttered but Blake still heard him.

"About that, Charlie..." the man hedged and Charlie turned his head to look at him.

"Doc?"

"I think maybe it would be better if we stop at the hospital first," Blake started but Charlie was already shaking his head, trying to hold back the panic.

"No."

"Charlie," Blake shot him a glance in the rear-view mirror, and Charlie knew the man meant well. That maybe things would be easier, if not for Charlie then for the others. Blake wouldn't have to take care of him, he wouldn't be stuck at home and Jean wouldn't have to be running around him. Most of all, Blake wouldn't risk his medical license for Charlie's sake.

He knew all that, on the logical level.

But after the last two weeks, after constant fear of being found out, after suffering at the hands of strangers, that just wasn't an option.

"Doc... I can't. Please. Don't make me."

Blake frowned.

"Why?" he asked after a moment. "Why are you so afraid, Charlie?"

"I had a sadistic doctor sew me up without anaesthetic." Charlie paused, trying to get his thoughts in order. Trying to quench the shaking of his own voice at the memory. "The same doctor that worked at the hospital where I was taken later."

Blake kept silent, though Charlie could see his knuckles turning white from clutching the steering wheel. He could see Blake's teeth clench by the sharp angle of his jaw.

"I woke up... to a nurse pushing a needle into my IV. My guard was gone. She had... no business being there."

The car jumped and Charlie grunted. Blake had obviously stepped down on the pedal more than he planned.

"Sorry," Blake said and the car slowed down considerably. "What on earth happened over there, Charlie?"

Charlie didn't know how to answer that. Erik had screwed up. Hell, Johnson had most likely screwed up at some point. The fact was, he was still in danger.

"Two of the guys got away, Doc. Kendrick... the doctor who supplied them with drugs... he's most likely back at work. Until someone else talks... Me and Caleb are the only witnesses. So... no. I don't want to be anywhere near a hospital."

"I can understand that, Charlie. Lord knows I do. What you went through sounds terrible and I wish we'd known sooner. But.. Ballarat is a long way from Leighton. We wouldn't leave you alone."

Charlie imagined Lawson or Blake staking out his room. He knew the chances of anyone figuring out who he really was and where to look for him were currently slim. It wasn't a logical decision on his part. However, it was the only one he could accept.

"I can't. I'd rather stay in a hotel alone than go to the hospital."

"Charlie-"

"No, Doc!" Charlie grunted out. "I was threatened, almost killed twice. I have enough of strangers I can't trust." Charlie took a breath to try and calm himself down. In a lower voice, he added:

"I want to go home. Where it's safe. That's all."

There was really nothing Blake could say to that. He seemed to think it over, then with a sigh, nodded.

"Alright, Charlie. Home it is."

* * *

They made it in two hours. By the time Blake parked the car in front of the house, it was mostly dark. Charlie had been zoning in and out of consciousness for the last hour. Each time he managed to fall into slumber, he came to with a startle. The first time it happened, Blake asked what was bothering him, but Charlie just shook his head, muttered something incoherent and pretended to go back to sleep. Of course Blake could feel Charlie's eyes on him, until he once again fell asleep.

It was unnerving to say the least. Blake still didn't have the whole story of what happened, but from what information Charlie gave him, the threat was real. While he didn't think Charlie would be in danger at the hospital, not with him and Lawson by his side, there was something about Charlie's words that hit close to home.

' _I want to go home. Where it's safe.'_

Blake knew that feeling very well. After the war ended, after he was freed, he would've given anything to return home. To his house with Mei-lin and their daughter. Nothing would have stopped him, not even the fact he could barely stand at the time. The only reason he stayed in Singapore for the next month was that he had nowhere to return to. With his wife and child missing or dead, there really was no urgency to go anywhere.

However, he had seen that same desperation and weariness on the faces of his fellow soldiers. That wariness of strangers around, trouble falling asleep. Waking up covered in cold sweat and fear filling their eyes.

Blake hoped Charlie didn't go through anything that horrible. He hoped this was something that a bit of time and support could fix. In a way, he wanted to keep the boy close as well. After hearing what has been happening, while they were all calmly waiting, unsuspecting, sent shivers down his spine.

Thus seeing his house in front of him, warm light pouring out of the windows and Lawson's car on the lawn, Blake allowed a smile to touch his lips. They were home.

The door opened, revealing Jean heading their way. He could see her pause midway as she noted Charlie's absence from the passenger seat.

Blake supposed it was time to wake Charlie.

He stepped out of the car, waving at Jean.

"Lucien? Where-"

"In the back," Blake said quickly, trying to keep his voice calm. He was pretty sure Jean would freak out once she saw Charlie in this state. Hell, Blake himself still winced every time he looked at Charlie, even though he had a six hour drive to get used to his derelict look.

"What? Why?" she frowned as she stepped beside him. Blake opened the door and leaned inside, putting his hand on Charlie's right leg and giving it a slight shake.

"Charlie? Wake up. We're home."

Charlie grunted and gave a feeble kick with his leg, trying to shake off the disturbance.

"Dear lord, Charlie?"

It was Jean's yelp as she took a first look at him that caused Charlie's eyes to open. He stared at them both fuzzily. It was obvious he needed a moment to focus on them. When he did, he put on a drunken smile.

"Mrs. Beazley... m home," he uttered and Blake's brow furrowed. Jean hasn't been Mrs. Beazley for several months now. Charlie's state of mind seemed to be deteriorating, which wasn't a good sign. He hoped it was just the weariness and not the effect of some hidden injury.

"Charlie, what on earth happened to you?" Jean asked, shooting Blake a wide eyed look.

"Long story," Blake said, giving a small shake of head. "We need to get him inside."

She didn't argue with that, though she did look towards the door. Lawson was heading their way as well.

"Lucien? Where is he?"

Blake sighed. So much for not having to answer twenty questions.

"In the car. Alright Charlie, let's get you into to house, shall we?"

Charlie grimaced.

"Think I'll stay here," he mumbled, closing his eyes.

Just then Lawson reached the car and peeked inside. His face turned into a frown.

"Davis!" he barked and Charlie's eyes snapped open. It was clear he wasn't sure what was going on, but was reacting on instinct.

"Boss?"

"Stop lazing about and get out of the damn car."

"Matthew!" Jean looked at him, appalled.

"What? I'm trying to help," Lawson said in a softer tone. And he was right. Charlie had scrambled to get out of the car. Well, he was trying to, but his body protested. He froze halfway out, right hand wrapped around his side, face a grimace of pain.

"It's alright, easy. Let us help," Blake spoke to him, shooting a glare at Lawson. "Don't rush him."

Lawson grunted, his eyes narrowing. Only now did he get a proper look at Charlie's face, at the haggard state he was in.

"What the hell happened Lucien?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

"Later," Blake said, giving both Lawson and Jean a pointed look even as he leaned down, wrapping his arm around Charlie's torso and helping him up. Charlie barely made it into standing position when his eyes rolled back, knees buckling. Jean was standing closer, so she wrapped his casted arm over her shoulder, sharing his weight between her and Blake.

"Thanks. Matthew, can you open the door to the surgery?"

"Why the hell didn't you drive him straight to the hospital?" Matthew asked, but he was already heading towards the house.

"He didn't want to go."

"Since when are you asking?"

Blake didn't respond. Lawson shot him a questioning look but must've seen his determination, because he didn't press more.

"He looks terrible, Lucien," Jean muttered even as they were easing Charlie down on the exam bed in the surgery. "What happened to him?"

"I'll explain everything I know... but I need to fix him up first."

Jean and Matthew shared a look. Charlie on the bed twitched, his eyes fluttering open. Jean couldn't stop herself from running her hand over his forehead soothingly.

"He's too warm," she muttered.

Charlie stilled a bit, looking up at her lazily.

"Hey there," she said, putting on a smile.

Charlie's eyes roamed the room. He tensed for a moment as he realized he was on an exam bed instead of a normal one, but then he took in the familiarity of the place.

"Home?" he asked, running his tongue over dry lips.

"Yes, you're home," she said and watched as his body relaxed. He found Blake's face and gave him a nod.

"Thanks Doc," he croaked, his eyes closing once again.

"Lucien?" Jean looked up a bit panicked. Blake was already by his side.

"He's just... asleep. Let him rest. It'll be easier to treat him that way."

Her brows furrowed.

"Treat what exactly?" It was Lawson, standing behind them who asked the question.

Blake wasn't keen on speaking though. He was focusing on Charlie, one hand on his wrist, checking his watch. Once he got the numbers, he started bustling around the surgery. First he took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, then headed towards the sink to wash up.

"Blake! Talk to us!"

"Look, it was a long ride. I don't want to be losing time answering questions, so please... let me focus on Charlie now, alright? Once I'm done, I'll fill you in."

Lawson grunted, obviously not happy about being sidelined. Jean on the other hand recognized her husband's worry and need to act. She knew answers could wait. Charlie couldn't.

"How can we help?"

Blake shot her a grateful look.

"Boil me some water. Then wash up. I will need assistance."

Jean nodded and went to the kitchen.

Lawson was now standing by the foot of the exam bed, looking at Charlie quizzically. It was clear he was dying to ask questions, just as it was apparent he was fighting down his anger. Someone had hurt one of his men. That should not have happened.

"Is there anything I can do now?" he asked and Blake was glad he kept that anger under check. Charlie wasn't totally out of it yet and he seemed to subconsciously react to any louder sound by a twitch of a muscle or grimace.

"Just let me work."

Lawson nodded, reluctantly heading towards the door.

"Matthew?" Blake called after him and Lawson turned.

"Yes?"

"Did anyone call about Charlie?" Blake asked.

"Few minutes before you arrived."

Blake frowned.

"They called the house?"

"Yes. It was O'Leary. The guy that told me Charlie was off on training."

"What did he say?"

"That Charlie had left earlier than he was supposed to. To call him if he returns home."

"Nothing else? No mentions of... this?" he asked with a frown, nodding at Charlie.

"Nope," Lawson said and it sounded almost as a growl.

"What did you tell him?"

Lawson shrugged.

"That he'll be the first to know of course."

Blake raised a brow while Lawson inclined his head.

"I didn't say _when_ that will be however." Lawson's voice bore a coldness that promised pain to whomever was responsible. If it was O'Leary, well. Blake wouldn't stop him. Hell, if he asked, he would gladly help dig another grave.

"Alright." Blake nodded, absent-mindedly. His focus was back on the patient. He unzipped the jacket and was trying to take it off, but it was a struggle with a half unconscious body. Charlie mumbled and his first reaction was to struck out.

"Hey, relax. It's just me," Blake soothed, grabbing Charlie's broken arm to stop him from smashing it against him or the bed. His other hand went to Charlie's face, patting his cheek gently. "Calm down, Charlie. I'm trying to help."

Charlie blinked, looking confused.

"Doc?"

"Yeah. We need to take off the jacket, okay?"

Charlie grumbled something, eyes roaming across the room.

"Matthew, help me get these clothes off him," Blake called out, seeing that Lawson was reluctant to leave the room still. Lawson was next to him in a moment. Between the two of them, they managed to take off the jacket without too much hassle. The hoodie was a bit more troubling as Charlie put up a fight. He stilled though once Lawson barked "Stop that nonsense Davis!"

"Sorry Boss," Charlie muttered and Blake felt bad for the confused look on his face. It was clear Charlie was having trouble staying in the present and making head or heel of the situation. He kept up a string of reassuring words, even through a string of curses Lawson let out once he saw the bloody bandage wrapped around Charlie's midsection or the bruises littering his body.

"I will want a full report as soon as you finish here Lucien," he growled. Blake wanted to snap at him that they weren't at work and he wasn't his boss, but let it slide for now. He knew he would give Matthew all the answers he sought soon enough. Right now Charlie had priority.

"Dear lord, was he shot?" Jean asked as Blake undid the bandages, throwing them on the floor. He didn't notice when she returned. She now stood by his desk, a bowl of boiled water in her hands.

"It's a stab wound actually," Blake corrected her, wishing he could wash the worry from her eyes.

"Once again, why did you bring him here?" Lawson growled.

"It had been treated before," Blake tried to sooth both of them. "Just a few popped stitches is all." He beckoned for Jean to bring the bowl with water to him. He pulled up a stool to put it down on it, then went on to prepare the needed instruments and medicine.

"It looks more bloody than just a few popped stitches," Lawson argued.

"Twelve hours on the road would do that," Blake uttered. "Jean, be a dear. Can you get me the blood pressure cuff?"

She nodded and grabbed the device, handing it over to Blake. She watched as he wrapped the cuff around Charlie's right arm, put the stethoscope under it and pumped up the cuff tight. Charlie squirmed under the pressure, tossing his head to the side.

"Whazzat?" he asked, eyes still closed but brow furrowed.

"Hush, go back to sleep," she cooed, once again running her fingers over his hair as he seemed to relax under her touch.

"Blood pressure is low, pulse is high. He needs fluids," Blake muttered once he finished the measurement. He was also worried about fever and infection, feeling the dry and warm skin under his fingers.

"Do you want to set up an IV?" Jean asked, correctly assuming his next steps. Blake nodded and once again headed for his cabinet. He rummaged through, finding what he needed quickly. He grimaced when he saw he was running out of saline. Of course, he didn't tend to keep too many bottles around. This was a small practice after all and seldom did he find an use for such treatment, outside of curing the worst of hangovers. Well, this time he would put it to better use. And in the morning he could always stop by at the pharmacy to fill up his stock if needed.

"Do you need any help?" Lawson asked and Blake realized the man still hadn't left the room.

"Not now. Just don't get in the way," he said a bit gruffly. He wasn't mad at Lawson, but his presence was a stark reminder that this wasn't an usual patient. Not that Blake didn't know that already.

Lawson didn't seem to take offence. He nodded and moved to lean against the wall near the door. Watching, thinking. Possibly plotting murder.

Blake let him and promptly forgot his presence. He needed to focus.

"What are you giving him?" Lawson asked a moment later and Blake's mouth twitched. So much for forgetting the man.

"Fluids. Antibiotics. Something for the pain."

Lawson frowned.

"You won't put him out for-" he waved towards Charlie's stomach with a disturbed look on his face. "Whatever it is you're planning?"

Blake shook his head.

"I don't want to risk sedating him under the circumstances."

"I don't like this. He shouldn't be here for some backend surgery. For Christ's sake, he's a cop! He has a right to a hospital!" Lawson grumbled, his voice rising in volume.

Blake could see it was distressing Charlie. He looked at Jean, who seemed to understand. She started speaking at Charlie in a soft tone, while Blake crossed the room. He was now face to face with Lawson, still giving him a glare.

"Keep your voice down, or I will kick you out of this room!" Blake hissed. "I know you have questions and that you worry. I'm not happy about this situation either, but Charlie has his reasons, and I will respect them. You can wait outside if you don't." Blake's tone was icy and firm. Lawson didn't step back though.

"Tell me he shouldn't be somewhere else right now," he uttered through clenched teeth.

Blake counted to three. Let out a strangled breath, then he put his hand on Lawson's shoulder.

"He is in the best possible hands right now. So please... let me do what I need to do."

It was testament to their friendship when Lawson finally succumbed.

"Do what you have to. I'll be in the living room."

With that, Lawson cast one more look Charlie's way, then turned and left. Blake let out a sigh. One battle won. Only few more to go.

He returned back to Charlie, finally able to put all his focus on him. The small argument didn't go unnoticed it seemed. Charlie's eyes were partially open and he looked worried, confused. Jean's voice and her gentle caress seemed to be helping some, but Blake knew it wouldn't be enough once he started cleaning the wound. He was hoping that the fluids and painkillers from the IV might relax Charlie enough to fall back to sleep.

Unfortunately, things didn't go as easy. Swabbing Charlie's arm with an alcohol pad didn't get much of a reaction. However, the moment Blake pushed the needle against Charlie's skin, all hell broke loose.


	15. The Treatment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pure h/c. Warning for some possibly innacurate medical stuff (if that squicks you out, you might wanna skip this chapter). If you here for the whump, then by all means, carry on and enjoy :)

He was almost there. He was so close he could smell the freedom. All that was standing in his way was a door.

Charlie took in a breath and slowly reached for the handle. He could hear someone in the kitchen, bustling about, a creak of a cabinet somewhere near. It sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine.

'Come on Charlie, do it,' he told himself and carefully opened the door.

Freedom.

First thing that hit him in the face was cold air, rushing over his skin. It seemed to be unnaturally cold for the season, but Charlie didn't mind. Cold air meant he was outside.

The sky was dark and Charlie frowned at the lack of stars. He couldn't see a thing really.

Except for two shiny spots. Coming closer. Growing brighter.

Charlie swallowed, his excitement over escaping fading away.

He had seen this before.

Two spots, reflecting the light from the windows. Coming closer.

The silence of the night was broken by a guttural growl and soon, Charlie saw yellowed teeth glinting beneath shining eyes.

A shadow moved and teeth bore down into his leg, clamping down viciously. Charlie kicked out, the teeth vanishing for a second.

He took a step back and suddenly he was inside the house again.

Kenneth's hand gripped his right arm tightly as he slammed him against the wall. Charlie couldn't move. All he could focus on was the growing pressure on his arm. More bruises, he thought. Kenneth's grip seemed to be stronger than possible and Charlie started to worry. He couldn't feel his fingertips anymore and it felt as if his arm was going to pop off. He tried to squirm out, but the hold was relentless.

Charlie couldn't stop the moan of distress. He hated himself for it instantly.

He wouldn't plead, not with Kenneth.

There was a voice though, somewhere in the distance. It felt as if a gentle breeze brushed at his hair and suddenly the pressure was gone. Kenneth was still there and Charlie still couldn't move, but the house seemed to be falling into a fog. Ben stepped out into the hall.

There was arguing. Charlie could hear raised voices, but they sounded from far away. He didn't like it, but didn't feel threatened. They were calming down and there was a presence nearby, humming.

A familiar voice, one that allowed his eyes to close and push everything out. His body welcomed the reprieve, even if it was short lived.

Charlie was somewhere on the verge, his mind floating in nothingness. He could feel the aches and discomfort of his body, could feel the cold air over his naked skin, the occasional touch. But it was all far away, as if happening to someone else. Just sensations that didn't really reach him.

Until something sharp pierced the skin of his elbow.

A needle.

Suddenly, it was as if Charlie's mind was slammed back into his body with such force it left him reeling. His heart was rushing, pumping adrenaline through the veins. The sweet haze of indifference was gone, replaced by one thing only.

Fear.

There was a needle wheedling it's way under his skin, planning to deliver who knew what kind of poison.

Charlie's eyes shot open as his body reacted on pure instinct. He jerked his arm back, out of his attackers grip. Next moment he curled on his side, ready to kick out at anyone nearby who tried to stop him. He had to leave, get off the bed, out of the room. He had to get home to safety.

Panic was clouding his mind and he didn't register the voices calling his name.

All he sensed were several pairs of hands, trying to stop him.

He grunted and cursed, not above biting anything that came close in his desperation.

His body was refusing to cooperate.

He made it halfway off the bed, but strong hands pulled him back. There was a weight over his chest, another bruising grip. And a litany of words.

"No!" he shouted, struggling. It was to no avail. His body felt weak, betraying him at the worst moment.

"Let me go!" Charlie half grunted, half whimpered.

A palm cradled his face and Charlie's eyes finally took in his surroundings.

"Charlie! It's us. Stop fighting. It's us!"

Blake.

Blake's face was only inches from his own, a mix of exasperation and surprise. He seemed to be caught breathless and Charlie blinked at the weird position they were both in. Charlie, half curled up on his right side, his right arm protectively tucked against his body. Blake was leaning over him, one hand still cradling his face, the other pushed against his chest, as if trying to push Charlie back onto his back.

Charlie was panting, his body trembling. There were more hands on him though and Charlie, wide eyed and mortified, turned his head, trying to see.

He caught sight of Jean, standing behind him. She had a shaky hold on his left shoulder and a hand on his flank, gripping the waistband of his pants. At the foot of the bed was Lawson, hands over Charlie's feet.

The look on his face was startling.

Charlie had never seen his boss distraught. Even when he was run over by the car and screaming with pain, he had the air of strength around him. Right now he looked uncertain.

Charlie hated that. He hated the look of worry and apprehension all three of his closest friends were throwing his way.

A sound of distress escaped his throat.

That more than anything broke through the stillness of the scene.

"It's alright, Charlie. You're safe," Blake muttered, nudging Charlie to look back at him.

Charlie reluctantly did. Anything had to be better than thinking about his boss having to restrain him during what amounted to a panic attack.

Charlie's eyes turned to Blake, deciding to latch onto the man and push everything else out.

"That's it, good boy. Now just try to relax. Slow down your breathing," Blake couched him softly. Between words he looked up and gave Lawson a short nod. Charlie felt the pressure from his feet vanish. He heard the retreating steps, though he didn't know if the man indeed left or just moved farther into the room.

It didn't matter. Blake was telling him to slow down. Jean was running soothing circles on his back. None of them made a move until he managed a shaky "Doc?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Blake said a bit unnecessarily. Charlie knew that. He would have to be blind not to know.

He scoffed.

"What it is, Charlie?"

"S-sorry," he mumbled, his face heating up in shame.

Blake shook his head.

"What for?"

Charlie frowned. Didn't he just cause a scene? Was this all another stupid dream? Was this even real?

His confusion must've been evident, because Blake took pity on him.

"It's alright. I startled you, nothing you should apologize for," he said in a reassuring tone.

Charlie though couldn't accept that.

"I thought I was... back there," he tried to explain.

"At the hospital?" Blake asked.

Charlie shook his head, frowning."It's all mixed up. 'm sorry."

"Oh Charlie," it was Jean, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Charlie had totally forgotten about her. His shoulders tensed. The thought of Jean seeing him like this, half naked and bloody, acting like a fearful child made him want to bury his head in a pillow.

"Ah, none of that," Blake chided when Charlie closed his eyes shut, moaning in frustration.

"Didn't want to," Charlie mumbled but opened his eyes to a squint. The light was getting on his nerves, making the thumping inside his head worse.

"What's that Charlie?"

"Make a mess," he added with a huff.

"You didn't. You just... put up an impressive fight," Blake said with a smile. Charlie groaned. He hoped he didn't hit anybody. He wasn't sure he could live that down.

"Sorry."

Blake shook his head.

"Enough of that. Care to tell me what scared you so?"

Charlie didn't want to. He thought it was stupid of him, especially once he realized he was indeed safe back in Blake's house. Everything here screamed safety, yet his heart was still taking it's time to calm down.

"Thought you were someone else," he finally admitted, his eyes turning down to his right arm, still pressed tightly against his chest.

"Ah."

Blake understood.

That was good. Charlie didn't feel like explaining right now.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I should've tried to wake you up first," he admitted. Charlie gave a shrug. Maybe. He doubted he would've been awake enough. He was starting to have trouble keeping his eyes open now.

"Tired," he mumbled and closed his eyes.

Blake patted his face.

"Can you stay up a bit longer Charlie?"

Charlie didn't really want to.

"Why?"

"I need to set up an IV to give you some fluids. I'd rather do it now while you are awake. Don't want to risk startling you again."

"Don't need that," Charlie grumbled, hoping that would make Blake see reason. He was good. All he needed was sleep. Why didn't they just let him sleep?

"Actually, you do. Trust me, you will feel much better."

Charlie shook his head, keeping his eyes closed and arm tight to his chest. He knew he was acting like a petulant child but he supposed it wasn't any worse than what he did moments ago.

"Charlie," this time it was Jean. "Let us help you."

Charlie opened his eyes and turned his head a bit. She was giving him that look. The one filled with concern. The one he didn't want to disappoint really.

He groaned. Slowly and reluctantly, he straightened his right arm, fighting back a flinch when Blake took hold of it.

"That's it. Just relax. You're safe, I wouldn't hurt you," Blake said softly. Which was kind of a lie Charlie noted with a scoff a moment later as Blake was trying to find a vein. Upon his third attempt Charlie was about to recount his assent, teeth gritting through the discomfort.

"Got it!" Blake announced with more pride than the action deserved in Charlie's book.

Jean rolled her eyes, while handing Blake the tape needed to secure the catheter and attach the line.

"It's a bit hard to find a good vein when you're dehydrated," Blake muttered instead of an apology. "You did great, Charlie," he added with a smile and Charlie decided he could perhaps let the man off the hook.

"Can I sleep now?" he asked, thinking it was all over. The smile slipped from Blake's face.

"I'm afraid we still need to sort out that stab wound," Blake said, nodding towards Charlie's abdomen. Charlie looked down and promptly wished he hadn't.

The bandages were off, giving him a clear view of the gaping edges of the wound. Blood was once again oozing slowly, mixing with old crusted blood staining his skin. He supposed the fight he put up didn't help any.

A hand cupped his chin, turning his eyes away from the sight.

"It's alright, it looks worse than it is," Blake assured him. "But we need to clean it and stitch you up. I'll give you a local anaesthetic, but... you might still feel something. I'd rather you be awake than risk you waking up in the middle of it, confused."

Charlie could understand that.

He definitely didn't want to start trashing around while the Doc had a needle pushing through his skin. On the other hand, he also didn't want to be awake for that.

"Can't you just knock me out?" he asked plaintively.

"I'd rather not give you anything that might depress your breathing. If something goes wrong... I don't have the equipment needed to help you. Not unless you want to go to the hospital."

Charlie was shaking his head even before Blake finished.

"N-no. It's okay. I can handle it."

"Charlie, maybe it would be better-" Jean started, obviously trying to convince him to change his mind. Charlie didn't let her.

"No. Not safe there," he said and that was all he was willing to say. "Doc? Let's... get this over," he said, shooting a pleading look towards Blake.

"Alright." Blake nodded, then turned to his wife.

"Can you bring me some towels please? Thank you dear," he added when Jean went to fetch some. "Now, let's get you into a better position, shall we?"

Blake helped Charlie lie back down on his back. He adjusted the exam bed so it now lie straight, leaving Charlie to look at the ceiling if he didn't want to raise his head. Which he didn't. Seeing the mess on his stomach was enough to give him a few more nightmares. He cringed at the thought of someone having to clean up the bed and floor afterwards.

When Jean returned, Blake put one of the towels by Charlie's side, either to give him some support or to catch the blood, he wasn't sure. It still felt better than the plastic cover of the bed.

After some preparation, Blake pulled up a stool next to Charlie's bed and a small table with instruments and the bowl of water. Charlie shot it a look, then decided he would be better off counting the cracks in the ceiling.

His eyes were growing heavy though and he let them slip closed. For the moment, Blake didn't seem to mind. Charlie felt something wet running over his stomach, cleaning up the site around the wound as much as possible. He cringed, body tensing. The pain wasn't too bad yet. Blake was careful not to really touch the wound. Or was it Jean? Charlie wasn't sure. He decided keeping his eyes closed was the best idea.

"I'll give you the local now. Just a few pricks. You might feel a bit of a burning, but that should be all."

Charlie steeled himself for more pain. He winced, holding his breath as Blake injected the anaesthetic. It did burn, but it was a far cry from when Kendrick was treating his wound. Charlie could handle this. Soon, the burning turned into numbness. When Blake asked if he felt something as his gloved finger touched the cut, Charlie shook his head.

"Pressure," was all he muttered.

"Good. Relax now, I'll flush the wound with saline."

Charlie could feel the cold sensation and some discomfort at the pressure of the water, followed by a tickling sensation as it trickled down his side. Blake repeated the process a few times, wiping off the blood and saline.

When the sensation faded, Charlie opened his eyes to look at what was going on. He noted that Blake had a thoughtful look on his face but didn't ask him about it. Not after he saw the needle and thread in his hands. Swallowing, Charlie turned his face towards Jean, who was standing on the other side of the bed, handing Blake whatever he needed. She gave him a supportive smile when she noticed his attention was her way.

"Everything alright there Charlie?" Blake asked as he pushed the needle against the skin.

The area was still numb, so Charlie just nodded.

"Good. If you start feeling pain, let me know. I can use more of the local anaesthetic."

"It's alright now," Charlie muttered, hoping Blake would finish quickly. While the needle sliding into his skin wasn't painful, the thread tugging felt strange.

The stitches took surprisingly little time. Before Charlie even realized it, there was a fresh clean bandage put over the wound.

"All done," Blake said, putting away the used things. Charlie would've expected him to look happy about that. His job was done. Charlie just wanted to curl up in his own bed and sleep for the next day or two. But Blake didn't seem satisfied, on the contrary. Something was clearly bothering the man, as he kept looking at Charlie quizzically.

"What's troubling you?" It was Jean who asked the question as she noted that Blake was surreptitiously checking every visible wound on Charlie's chest and arms, as if looking for something.

"That fever," Blake muttered, frowning at the slash wound on Charlie's forearm. It had a few stitches, but Charlie barely even noticed it. "I thought the wound would be infected, but it looks alright. A bit irritated, but that wouldn't account for the symptoms he is showing."

Blake sighed, shaking his head.

"Did you have the fever at the hospital too, Charlie? What did the doctor say?"

Charlie blinked. He remembered the nurse saying something, though he wasn't paying that much attention.

"Uh... I don't know," he admitted.

Blake's eyes narrowed. The man was getting suspicious again and Charlie knew that didn't bode well for him.

"Don't know what? Did you even talk to a doctor or did you decide to run before that?" Blake asked almost jokingly before his face turned into a frown.

Charlie had the grace to flush and look away.

"Charlie!" This time it was Jean who was shooting him disapproving looks. Charlie shrugged.

"Wasn't time. I only saw a nurse," he admitted.

Blake looked as if he wanted to throttle someone. He ran a hand over his tired eyes, shaking his head before leaning against the exam bed, giving Charlie a questioning look.

"Well, what did she say?"

Charlie sighed, trying to recall the memory. His head was fuzzy and really all this questioning was just making him feel more irritated.

"Charlie," Blake nudged him when he was silent for too long. Charlie grimaced.

"Nothing really," he said. "She just checked my stomach and-" It was as if a light bulb went off. "Oh," Charlie said, cringing. He knew Blake wouldn't like what he said next.

"Oh?" Blake's brow lifted.

"Beast," Charlie huffed, cursing the blasted animal.

"You're not making any sense, Charlie," Blake noted, seeming worried.

"The dog. I was... it bit me."

"A dog bit you?"

Charlie wasn't sure who looked more surprised. Whether Blake or Jean. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment. It wasn't one of his best moments.

"Yeah. Few days ago," he mumbled, lifting his right hand to cover his face, only to grunt when the movement pulled at the forgotten IV.

"Of course. The limp. I thought you were just protecting your side," Blake muttered to himself even as he was moving towards the foot of the bed, rolling up the pants leg slightly to see the soiled bandage.

"Ah Charlie..." he shook his head. "You didn't think to mention this why?"

"I forgot?" Charlie said sheepishly. To be fair, in view of how uncomfortable he was feeling, the throbbing in his leg totally skipped his mind.

"That's not a thing you forget," Blake sighed. "I need to get a proper look, but I'm pretty sure it's infected and most likely the cause of the fever. We will need to clean that too before it gets worse. And hope that the antibiotics will clear it up."

"If not?" Charlie's eyes went wide.

"Let's cross that bridge when we get there, shall we?" Blake said and gave Charlie's thigh a gentle pat. "How attached are you to these pants?"

Charlie blinked.

"They aren't mine," he said, puzzled. For all he cared, they could be burned.

"Excellent. Jean?"

She was already handing him the scissors. Charlie felt the sudden draft on his leg as Blake did a short job and cut through the material almost to half his thigh.

"Any other injuries I should know about?" Blake asked and it was clear he was contemplating divesting Charlie of the pants completely to make sure. Charlie gave a quick shake of his head in protest.

Blake accepted that for the moment and focused on cutting off the bandage instead.

"Oh Charlie," Blake muttered and the tone of his voice made it clear he wasn't happy about what he saw. Charlie once again raised his head, trying to get a look. He caught sight of the angry redness and the fact his calf looked larger than usual. He swallowed and decided he didn't need to see more.

"Is it bad?" he asked instead, eyes returning to the perusal of the ceiling.

Blake's fingers touched the sensitive skin. Charlie hissed, his leg jerking away. How the hell did he not notice that? It felt as if something was pulsing inside his calf, sending waves of heat all over his body.

"It's not good. Could be worse, but... hopefully the antibiotics will help."

There was more pressure on the leg and Charlie gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out.

"I'm sorry Charlie. I need to check the bite..." Blake finally managed to find a position where he had a good view it seemed, because he stopped trying to twist Charlie's leg out of his knee socket.

"Ah. I'm afraid this would require a bit more cleaning," Blake commented after a moment and Charlie let out a groan. He really wasn't looking forward to more pain.

"Doc... please. I just wanna get some sleep," Charlie said, shooting Blake a pleading look. Blake patted him on the shoulder, looking apologetic.

"I know, Charlie. But this can't wait."

Charlie huffed.

"Say what... why don't you try to get a bit of rest? I'll need to prepare some things first anyway."

Charlie frowned. He didn't like the sound of that. Whatever did Blake need that wasn't already there?

"Don't worry, it won't be so bad," Blake reassured him with a smile.

It made Charlie worry more.

But he could hardly show that without making Blake lose time with useless reassurances. The sooner this thing was over, the sooner he could rest... in his bed. Right now that was the only thing keeping Charlie from having a temper tantrum like a two year old.

So he gave a small nod and decided to take Blake up on the offer of rest. There was hardly much else to do anyway.

"Alright. Jean, I will need to boil some more water-" Blake said, his voice lowering as he stepped aside to speak with Jean. Charlie might've tried to eavesdrop, but that would require effort and Blake was keeping his voice down on purpose.

Oh well. He would find out soon enough what was lying in store for him he supposed. Now if only he could perhaps get a blanket in the meantime. The room felt cold and he also felt self-conscious. After all, Jean was in the room and here he was, bare-chested and half pantless, covered in bruises. What could she be thinking?

Most likely how much of a loser he was, unable to even protect himself from a kid... or a stupid dog.

Charlie's face scrunched up into an unhappy grimace as thoughts like this kept pestering him. What would the guys at the station think? Hell... what was Lawson thinking? Having had to restrain him at one point. Charlie more and more wished that he had headed to Sydney instead. Maybe enduring the sight of strangers would have been easier than showing up like this and bearing the disappointment.

Someone ran a soothing hand over his scalp, startling him out of these gloomy thoughts.

"What's on your mind?"

It was Jean, looking at him with such warmth and concern that Charlie promptly forgot all his doubts. There was no judgment in those eyes.

"Missed you all," Charlie muttered, then ran his tongue through parched lips.

"We missed you too. Are you thirsty?"

Charlie nodded.

Jean handed him a glass of water and helped him sit up a bit by raising the head of the bed. Charlie greedily gulped down the liquid, scarcely heading her warning to slow down. He had most of it down when his stomach sent him a signal to stop or bear the consequences.

Charlie listened to it. He let Jean put away the glass and used his upright position to look around.

"Where's Blake?" he asked, confused by the emptiness of the room.

"In the kitchen, having a small argument with Matthew."

"Huh?" Charlie didn't understand. What could those two be arguing about?

"Don't worry about that. He'll be back soon."

Well, Charlie was more worried about that if truth be said.

"How does it look?" he asked, nodding towards his leg. What he could see from his position was the red, taunt skin. The bites though were on the back of his calf and he would have to twist his leg to get a proper look.

Jean patted his right hand.

"It'll be alright, Charlie. Lucien will take care of that."

Charlie hoped so. He really didn't want to think about the possibility of losing his leg or having to limp for the rest of his life. He thought Lawson's unfortunate condition was enough for one police station. Really, was this fate's twisted way of paying him back for past mistakes?

He found himself once again lost in thoughts and memories of the past, until Blake walked through the door with a steaming bowl.

Jean must've known what that was for, because she already had prepared some fresh stripes of linen on a table.

Blake's face was calm and composed. Behind him, Lawson peeked into the room. Charlie wished his boss would leave. He really didn't know what was in store for him, but he knew he didn't want Lawson to witness his possible weakness. He would have preferred for Jean to leave as well, but knew he couldn't ask that without offending her. So he bit down his protests about the too large company and decided to focus on the one man that currently posed the biggest threat to his own composure.

"What's that for?" he asked as he saw Blake soak the linens in the steaming water.

"Warm compress. It helps to open the wound and pull the infection to the surface. It shouldn't be painful, don't worry."

Charlie swallowed. Somehow he doubted the statement. Also who would want to open the wound? He'd prefer for it to stay closed, thank you very much. But he had no time to protest. Blake had once again started moving him this way and that, trying to find the best position to access the bite. Finally, Charlie had ended up lying flat on his right side, right leg bent at the knee so that the left could rest on some towels. The position wasn't exactly comfortable, but it partially allowed Charlie some privacy. This way, the only one able to see his face was currently Jean, who for some reason settled on a stool on the opposite side of Blake. She decided to be Charlie's emotional support it seemed.

"Alright Charlie. This might feel a bit too warm but it shouldn't be burning. Let me know if it's too much, okay?"

Charlie gave a half-hearted nod, then hissed as he felt the cloth touch the sensitive skin. He clenched his eyes shut and fought the instinct to just shake the cloth off. He could do this, all he needed was to give himself some time to adjust.

He felt Jean squeeze his hand and he returned the grip, thankful for the distraction.

"Is it alright Charlie?" Blake asked after few moments and Charlie gave another nod. The warmth was seeping through and it was far from comfortable, but the initial pain was dulled. Much like when you put your hand under a cold water faucet and it got numb.

"How long?" Charlie asked finally when he was sure his voice won't be too shaky.

"About twenty minutes. Rest up if you can," Blake said and Charlie's brow furrowed at the odd note. It seemed like what was coming after would be worse if Blake was giving him such advice. He didn't like that at all but there was hardly anything he could do about it sans leaving. He was pretty sure though that in his current state even Jean could overpower him. Somehow during the last few hours of the car drive all the energy was drained out of him, leaving him feeling like a victim of the plague.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Charlie jerked, startled. He looked up, wondering who would be calling at such a time. Though... what time was it anyway? All he knew was that it was already dark outside. Or was it early morning?

While Charlie mused how strangely time passed when one kept nodding out, someone had already picked up the phone. He could hear Lawson's voice from the next room. His tone was tight at first but then appeared to be soothing. Charlie blinked. Soothing Lawson? That just didn't get together.

When the man in question entered the room, Charlie made the effort to turn his head to get a proper look, despite the pull of stitches on his side.

"That was your mother," Lawson said to Charlie, with a thoughtful look on his face.

Charlie felt his heart skip a beat. His mother had no reason to call, not unless something happened.

"What's wrong?" he asked, fully turning and ready to get up. Blake cursed, grabbing the cloth on his leg, while Jean grabbed his shoulder to stop him from keeling over. The room had spun and Charlie felt as if the bed had dipped under him, giving his stomach that nice rollercoaster feel. He swallowed and went still.

"Lie back down you fool," Lawson barked even before Blake could tell him how a stupid idea this was. "Your mother is fine."

"Brothers?" Charlie hissed through gritted teeth as he settled back down on the bed, trying to ignore Blake's grumbling about screwing up his work.

" _Everyone_ is fine. Well, except for you obviously," Lawson said with a pointed look. "Which is exactly why she called."

"She knows I'm here?" Charlie asked, confused. He didn't call her for ages, how would she know he arrived home?

"No, not yet. But.. she did get a call from O'Leary. He seemed to be rather adamant she inform him as soon as she hears from you. Of course, the fool didn't tell her why, so she was a bit worried."

"O'Leary?" Charlie repeated the name. Why the hell would the man call his mother? And what would he do if he didn't hear from Charlie soon? Would he go as far as to pay a visit to his family? Charlie shuddered at the thought. Even if O'Leary wouldn't try to threaten his way around, his presence would surely send his mother into panic.

Charlie was making himself anxious. Fortunately, there was Jean, always the voice of reason. She put her palm on his arm in support as well as to keep him settled, then turned to Lawson with a bit of glare.

"And I am sure you reassured her that Charlie was fine?"

Lawson grimaced.

"I told her not to worry, that he's most likely fine. But I could hardly tell her he was home now, could I? Not unless I know what in God's name is even going on." This time he aimed his words at Blake. Charlie it seemed was for the moment excused from his duties.

However, it was hardly Blake's story to tell and Charlie bristled at the fact he was being overlooked. Especially if his family was being dragged into it.

Once again, he attempted to sit up, with one goal in mind.

"I need to call him. So he stops bothering mum," he uttered through a groan. He was now sitting up but his body was protesting loudly. The room turned dark around the edges.

"Bloody hell Charlie, stop being such a stubborn fool," Blake admonished him and Charlie let the hands lead him to lie back down on the bed. This time he was turned on his other side though, so he at least had a view of the rest of the room and Lawson. The man was leaning against Blake's desk, arms crossed and a frown marring his face. Charlie knew that he would be in for a good tongue lashing if he didn't look so pitiful.

As it was, Lawson waited for Blake to settle him down. Charlie let the doctor change the cloth for another hot one, while he took a moment to set his thoughts right. It was getting harder and harder he noted.

"Look, I don't need the whole story right now," Lawson spoke up after a minute, "but I do need to know the basics. You are in no state to take care of anything Charlie, so I need to know what's going on to handle the situation. At least for the moment."

Charlie knew that. He saw Jean also giving him a curious look, while Blake shrugged, as if to say 'up to you'.

"As long as you stay still and let me work," Blake said tightly. He was clearly exhausted by a whole day's driving and the last thing he needed was for Charlie to sabotage all that he was doing to help him.

"Sorry," Charlie muttered.

"I want to know who you wanted to call just now and what were you planning on telling them. Then I need to know what happened to land you in this state... and whether it was legal or not," Lawson added heavily.

Charlie blinked. Was his Boss thinking he was doing something illegal? And if so... why was he still covering for him?

Charlie's surprise must've been clear on his face because Lawson looked like he wanted to slap him silly. As it was he just sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, obviously warding off a headache. Charlie could commiserate with that. His own head was feeling ready to start its own rock band, despite whatever drugs the doc put into the IV.

"Charlie? What happened?" Jean asked gently, seeing that Charlie was once again losing focus.

Charlie sighed... then told them. Not everything and far from a detailed report, but enough that they knew the most basic things. All else he was sure Blake would explain later, well all that he knew from Charlie's previous recounting.

Jean looked horrified at the events. Twice her hand squeezed his arm so hard he was sure there would be new bruises, but Charlie supposed he deserved that for scaring her.

Lawson on the other hand... Charlie didn't know what to think. The man hadn't spoken other than to ask one or two clarifying questions. He didn't rant, he didn't call him a bloody idiot. He seemed calm and composed... and it scared Charlie more than if he was in his face screaming and spitting fire.

"Boss?" he asked, somehow timidly as he finished his shortened recount.

"I'd like Johnsons' number now," Lawson said neutrally. He was already looking for a pen and notepad on Blake's desk.

Charlie rattled of the number from head, before he realised what that meant.

"Uh boss? You... won't call him, right?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. The look Lawson gave him made that clear enough.

"No, I just like random phone numbers. Of course I'm going to call that fool!" Lawson barked and although Charlie winced at the words, he was glad Lawson's seeming calmness had broken. The man was much easier to deal with when he reacted as expected.

"Matthew, there's no need to cuss," Jean said, trying to calm down the tension.

Lawson pointedly ignored her while Charlie started to worry about the repercussions.

"Boss, he doesn't know my real name. Or where I'm from. I... I trust Johnson, but..."

"Not the people he's working with?" Blake finished, earning a grateful look from Charlie.

"I surmised as much, Davis. Do you really think I was about to announce your address to some idiot, who couldn't even make sure you got proper medical treatment?"

"That's not-" his fault, Charlie wanted to say, but Lawson's glare cut him off.

"Leave that one to me, Charlie. I'll talk to O'Leary as well. Now that I know what's the problem... I'll make sure he gives you a few days of rest. And that he won't bother your family," Lawson added with a roll of his eyes when Charlie opened his mouth.

"Thanks Boss," Charlie said and whatever Lawson wanted to say next, he changed his mind. All he did was nod and clear his throat, suddenly looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but in the room. Charlie didn't blame him for it. If he could, he would've preferred to be somewhere else too.

"Alright then. I shall go and... make a few phone calls. Try not to give Blake too much trouble Davis, will you?"

"Yes Boss," Charlie answered with a half smile, watching longingly as Lawson left the room. The smile quickly slipped from his face though. A shiver ran through his body and he realized he was shaking slightly.

Jean must've noticed. She run a hand over his face, tutting.

"He feels warmer," she noted to Blake. "Do you want to cool him down a bit?"

Blake also checked and Charlie grunted, trying to pull away. He really didn't need both of them to fret over him.

"It's cold enough a-already," he said as another shiver ran through him. Blake and Jean exchanged a look and Jean pulled out a blanket from the cabinet. Charlie wanted to burrow in it full, unfortunately Blake still needed access to his leg. He was still thankful when Jean wrapped it around his torso.

He was even more thankful for the blanket when Blake finally decided to start cleaning up the dog bite. Somehow, the injections with the local anaesthetic managed to hurt more than in his stomach. Charlie pulled the blanket up, hiding half his face under it. Despite the numbing effect, the cleaning bloody hurt. Whatever the doc was doing went deeper or at least it felt so. Charlie had to bite down on his tongue several times and the edge of the blanket was tightly gripped in his clutched fist.

"It's alright, you're doing great Charlie," Blake kept saying. Charlie wanted to believe him. He could feel Jean next to him, her hand caressing his forehead, cradling through his hair. He tried to focus on that for a while. On the tender touch, her soft words about everything and nothing. He caught something about the latest gossip of the town, a ridiculous story about a neighbour almost shooting his wife, mistaking her for some bin chickens. Charlie would have laughed, if Blake wasn't trying to kill him.

Charlie's fingers curled up, fingernails digging into the blanket almost as mercilessly as Blake's fingers were digging into the wound. Or at least that's what it felt like.

"Just a moment, Charlie. It's almost done," Blake muttered.

Charlie wondered how long a moment could last.

"That's it. All done, Charlie," Blake said and Charlie opened his eyes to see the look of relief on the man's face. It seemed like he was as happy about the job done as Charlie himself. "You did great," Blake added giving Charlie's arm a light tap.

Finally, it was over. At that point Charlie wasn't sure whether he was shaking from the fever or the discomfort of it all. Blake had wrapped up his leg and Charlie was free to move around. He wanted to go up to his room, but even turning on the bed seemed like too much of a feat. He groaned in frustration.

"What's the matter?" Blake asked worriedly while pulling the rest of the blanket to cover Charlie's legs too.

"My room," Charlie muttered, his eyes already drooping.

"Ah," Blake grimaced. "I'm afraid that's out of the question right now. I'd like to keep you here for the night... or at least until that drip runs out. Then we will move you to Matthew's room."

Charlie frowned in disagreement.

"Why not my room?"

"I hardly think going up those stairs would be smart right now. Don't worry about it though. I'm sure you'll be back to your own bed quick enough. Now... why don't you try to sleep?"

Charlie thought that was actually a great idea. After the horrible day or two, even the uncomfortable exam bed felt like heaven. As long as he was safe and surrounded by people that had his back, he could've slept on the floor.


	16. Conversations

Matthew Lawson was mad. He had left the surgery once Charlie gave him the phone number and name, but he didn't go far. He paced the waiting room in front of the practice, trying to get hold of his emotions. Trying to figure out what needed to be done.

It was hard to think though. Whatever Blake was doing... it wasn't painless. Lawson could handle hearing Blake's reassuring and soothing words, but he drew the line when he heard a sound that was close to a whimper. With a curse, he walked into the living room. First thing he did was to pour himself a stiff drink. The whiskey burned its way down his throat and even though Lawson tried not to find solace in alcohol, this time the burn was preferable to the twisting of his stomach.

That stupid boy.

Why the hell did he let himself be dragged into an undercover op? When he had no real backing, no one to save his ass if things went south. And Lawson didn't count Johnson as backup. He didn't know all that happened, after all, Charlie seemed only half conscious as he was describing the events. Based on the glances Blake was shooting him, the clenched jaw of the doctor, Lawson was sure there was more to tell. Much more that he wasn't privy to yet. But he would be. As soon as Blake finished his doctoring he planned to give the man the third degree... and then, once Charlie was awake... God help the man. Lawson was going to rip him a new one.

If he hadn't made it out alive... they would have never learned the truth. Lawson was sure of that if nothing else.

The phone call he got from O'Leary earlier that day was proof enough.

The glass was empty. Lawson shot it a betrayed look. He didn't want to get drunk, definitely not before taking care of things. With some distaste, he put the glass on the table and leaned back on the couch, the paper with the phone number crinkled in his hands. Blasted thing.

Lawson was hoping to get a bit of peace now that Blake had settled down with Jean. At least the man had other things to occupy himself with and was easier to handle during a case. So of course when one troublemaker had taken a break, the other one went ahead and caused mayhem.

Lawson was only glad that Charlie didn't get mixed up in something illegal. While this undercover assignment was unfortunate, Lawson felt compelled to back him up. If Charlie had gotten himself mixed up in something iffy... well. Lawson was glad he didn't have to worry about that now. To be frank, he wasn't sure what he would do. Once he saved the kid's life and jumped in front of that damn car, Lawson felt obligated to make sure Charlie outlived him. For whatever sappy reason.

Lawson shot a longing look towards the bottle of whiskey. He would wait with it until Blake emerged from the surgery, he decided. Better have something to dampen down the anger that would undoubtedly resurface once he got a full report on Charlie's injuries. Or the details he was lacking.

Right now he needed to think about the situation at hand. There were things that couldn't be put away. The longer they were left alone, the more damage could be caused. The phone call from Charlie's mother was proof enough.

Lawson could understand that the higher ups were a bit antsy. If Charlie was supposed to appear in Sydney and he didn't... well. He was their witness... he was a cop. Sooner or later, his disappearance would definitely be noticed and bring questions.

Actually... the thought of some hapless idiot sitting in the office, worrying about his own ass for once made Lawson's lips turn up into a smile. Maybe he should leave it for tomorrow. Or the day after. He would have loved to let them sweat it out.

Unfortunately, O'Leary was becoming rather aggressive about his approach and Lawson knew Charlie wouldn't take kindly if he learned his mother was being harassed and questioned. That made the decision clear.

With a sigh, feeling anything but calm, Lawson picked up the phone.

It took only two rings for O'Leary to pick up.

Lawson didn't lose time with niceties.

"You wanted to know when I get word from Davis."

There was a moment of silence.

"Is he in Ballarat?"

"I'm not privy to his location at the moment," Lawson said. He knew O'Leary would appear at the house sooner or later, but he wanted to give Charlie some time to get back on his feet.

"But he did call you?"

"Yes. He is alive and safe, but he needs a bit of time. It seems that _someone_ didn't put that much care into his safety as we were led to believe."

O'Leary had the grace to sound slightly chastised.

"There was some small... issue. But I assure you that sergeant Davis had all the backing he needed."

"Oh right. All the backing. That's why he was stabbed?" Lawson barked into the phone.

More silence and Lawson gritted his teeth. Damn, how he wished to get his hands on O'Leary.

"That was an unfortunate accident I'm afraid. Despite that, sergeant Davis handled himself well and made a terrible contribution to the case."

"I bet he did," Lawson all but growled. "Being your punching bag."

O'Leary cleared his throat.

"Are you sure you don't have information on sergeant Davis' current location? I want to remind you that this case is important and we do need his statement."

"Oh, his statement? And here I thought you were worried about his well being."

"Superintendent Lawson-"

"Chief-Superintendent for you O'Leary," Lawson spat, his hand gripping the cradle of the phone so hard his knuckles went white.

"Chief-Superintendent... I realize you are a bit upset about this whole situation-"

"I don't think you know what it means to be a 'bit upset'."

"In any case... I do need to talk to Sergeant Davis."

"And you will. Once he will be up for it."

"And when will that be?" O'Leary asked, clearly realizing there was no going around Lawson on the matter.

"I will call you and let you know. Or he will. Until then... I was told sergeant Johnson had taken his full statement. I doubt you will need much more for the next few days."

"That's hardly up to you to decide!" O'Leary snapped back, losing his own patience.

"No, it's actually up to sergeant Davis. So I repeat... I will call you in few days. Until then... I'd _appreciate_ it if you stopped bothering his family with stupid questions. I already had to spend half an hour reassuring his mother that her son isn't lying dead in some alley, shot like his father. Because some _bloody idiot_ scared her half to death."

"For all I know he could have been at that point, _Chief Superintendent,"_ O'Leary all but spat out. "Not my fault your sergeant can't make a simple call."

Lawson had to grit his teeth to stop himself from unleashing a barrage of curses onto O'Leary's parentage. Instead, he took a deep breath and counted to ten. It always worked with Blake.

"I'm warning you O'Leary. If I hear that you so much as breathed a word to sergeant Davis's mother, I will personally find you and make your life a living hell. Trust me, I have plenty of practice dealing with pains in the ass. You wouldn't like the results."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No. Just a friendly warning. And I better not see you around my town until I give you that call either, understood?"

"You have no right to tell me what to do!"

"I have if it involves my people!" Lawson barked into the phone. "And you should have realized that before sending one of my man to play bait in a bloody fighting ring!"

O'Leary was already sputtering something about Lawson not having any jurisdiction over him, when Lawson slammed down the cradle and ended the call.

He didn't have patience for bloody idiots. He said his piece after all and if O'Leary knew what was best for him, he would heed his warning. Now whether the same applied to the man who made the initial order will have to be seen. But that wasn't something he could address without first finding out more about the case. Which would most likely have to wait until Charlie was able of answering a few more questions.

'One down, one to go,' Lawson thought idly and shot a look towards the hall. All was quiet. He couldn't hear any screaming or urgent voices, so that was good he supposed. For a moment he debated whether to leave this call for tomorrow, but then decided against it. He wanted to hear Johnson... wanted to get a picture of the man. He needed to know if he should be on his radar too... as a person to watch out for in the oncoming days.

So with a bit less anger, Lawson smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper and dialled the number. This time it took a lot longer for the other end to pick up. So long that Lawson was about ready to hang up before he heard a grumbled 'Hello?'

"Sergeant Johnson?" he asked, shooting a look at the clock. It was shortly past nine but that was hardly late. Unless one had spent the last night at a stake out.

"Who's this?" Johnson's voice was still sleepy, but there was a certain note of wariness in it. Good. Lawson would have thought him stupid if he wasn't vary of strange callers.

"Charlie's friend," he introduced himself, showing no hesitation. Friend or boss... what did it matter. Johnson didn't need to know the details.

There was momentary silence on the other end, before a wide awake voice replied:

"I expected Charlie to call."

"Well, I expected Charlie to get back in unharmed. Seems like we can't always have what we want," Lawson barked.

"Is he alright?" Johnson asked, forgoing the jab.

Lawson felt a bit of relief upon hearing genuine concern in the man's voice.

"He will be," he said with a bit less bite. "No thanks to you obviously."

"I did what I could," Johnson said wearily. "There's only so much one can do, when things keep fucking up."

Lawson's eyes narrowed at that.

"What do you mean?"

More silence.

"Sergeant Johnson. I asked you a question."

"Yes. But seeing as you didn't introduce yourself as my superior, I find myself lacking the need to answer it," Johnson bit back with equal snark.

Lawson cringed.

Of course... for all Johnson knew, he could've been Charlie's drinking buddy. Or a guy that caught him on the way home.

"Alright," Lawson said with more calmness than he felt. "I can appreciate you not blabbering sensitive information to the first guy who calls. But I will expect more answers once Charlie is back on his feet."

"And I am more than willing to give them to him," Johnson said. " _Only_ to him."

Lawson snorted. He couldn't help but appreciate Johnson's straightforwardness.

"Expect a call in a day or two then. And Johnson?"

"Yes sir?" Johnson reacted, letting on that he knew Lawson wasn't _just_ a friend, more likely a superior.

"Watch your back too. I have a feeling you didn't get all the snakes there."

Johnson sighed.

"Yes, I'm starting to think the same."

That more than anything confirmed Lawson's suspicions that something had indeed gone wrong on the higher level. Any other conversation though had to wait. He could hear the door to the surgery open.

Without much pleasantries, he hung up the phone and turned towards the incomer.

It was Blake. Looking haggard and with unidentified spots on his shirt. Without a word, the man headed towards the bar and poured himself a stiff one, downing it in one shot.

"How is he?" Lawson asked, trying to surmise the answer before it came. Blake seemed concerned, but not overtly so. Jean was nowhere to be seen and there was no rush in his movements. No panic.

"With some luck and care he should be fine. In time."

Lawson raised a brow.

"Since when do you count on luck as medical treatment?"

"Luck or antibiotics, call it what you want," Blake said, waving with his now empty glass. He looked at the bottle longingly, but just like Lawson seemed to forego it.

"Is he asleep now or can I talk to him?"

Blake shook his head.

"He's asleep and most likely won't be up for serious conversation for a while."

"That bad?" Lawson frowned and Blake gave him a shrug.

"His fever is bound to get worse with that infected leg. To top it off, he is showing signs of concussion. So I wouldn't expect much sense out of him."

Lawson clenched his teeth. This made things a bit more complicated. He was hoping to get more information out of Charlie so he had the next day or two to figure out what was going on. How much danger was Charlie still in.

"You sure you can handle this here?" Lawson asked, seeing how Blake looked down at his shirt, pausing as he just noticed the spots of what was most likely Charlie's blood.

"For now," Blake muttered. "If he gets septic, I don't care who is after him, I'm taking him to the hospital. Even if I shall stay there with him standing guard."

"Let's hope it doesn't go so far then," Lawson said with a sigh. Blake looked up at him with a frown.

"You think he has a reason to be this paranoid?"

Lawson shrugged.

"O'Leary is too pushy and Johnson seems... paranoid as well. That means something's going on. I'd rather keep Charlie's whereabouts under wraps until he can give us all the answers we need."

Blake nodded in agreement, his eyes turning towards the surgery thoughtfully.

"You done torturing him?" Lawson asked.

Blake shot him a glare.

"It was hardly my intention. But yes... I'm done for now."

"And you going to leave him there or need help getting him upstairs?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could use your room for a day. Until he is more stable at least. I don't want him upstairs."

Lawson sighed. He was expecting the reply.

"Alright. I suppose I can take the couch-"

Blake rolled his eyes.

"Don't be stupid. Charlie's room is already made up."

"Well then... I shall tidy up mine as well. And while I am at it, maybe you could get changed. I'd rather not keep staring at my sergeant's blood during the night vigil."

Lawson didn't wait for a reply and headed towards his room. He was pretty sure Jean would want to change the bed sheets and clean it up. Right now though he knew she would be better served keeping an eye on Charlie. Not to mention, a bit of busy work sounded actually like a good distraction.

Lawson remembered his army days and so by the time he finished, his bed looked like from a prospect. The bed sheet was taunt as a spring, edges tucked in. Lawson doubted Charlie will appreciate the effort, but at least it gave him some sense of satisfaction. He had a feeling he would need every little drop in the following days.

When he returned to the living room, Blake was coming down the stairs, thankfully changed into clean clothes.

"Hid all the naughty magazines?" he asked with a smirk while Lawson rolled his eyes.

"You mean the ones you left behind?"

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Blake said airily.

Lawson snorted, but the bout of good mood evaporated as soon as his eyes strayed towards the surgery. Blake saw it and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

„We will make sure he'll be fine," he said assuredly.

„Like we did these last two weeks?" Lawson snapped, then shook his head. It was hardly Blake's fault... or his own. That didn't mean he didn't feel some level of guilt over not even suspecting. He should have known. He should have known the first time Charlie's mother called to inquire about him that things weren't as they seemed. But he let it pass then. For what reason, he wasn't sure. Or maybe he just didn't want to think about it.

„Let's focus on the present, shall we?" Blake spoke and Lawson nodded. There was time for recriminations later. Preferably when Charlie was awake and ready to hear them too.

„I'm going to check on him, give Jean a bit of a break. Then I will tell you whatever Charlie left out this second time around. Sounds good?"

„Splendid," Lawson admitted. He followed Blake towards the surgery, lingering by the door. Charlie was asleep, bundled up in the blanket. He could see he was shivering still and there was a light sheen of sweat on his face. Jean was there, putting a cold compress on his forehead. She had managed to clean up the room from all the mess and if not for the bruises covering Charlie's face and the IV sneaking from under the covers, it would've looked as if he just caught the flu.

Blake walked over to his wife, his hands rubbing her shoulders and whispering something into her ear. She smiled up at him lovingly and nodded.

Lawson decided to retreat back to the living room. That second glass of whiskey sounded to be just what he needed.

* * *

It was startling how the most jarring thing about Charlie weren't the bruises but the stubble and the unkempt hair. She had seen Charlie beaten up before, sick or tired, but never unshaven. Combined with the dark circles under his eyes it made him look much older, more beaten up by life. It wasn't how she wanted to see him though and she hoped that with some care he could get back to his old self quickly.

As if sensing her thoughts, Charlie grimaced. He was getting restless.

Jean leaned forward and ran her hand over his cheek, half to sooth, half to check his temperature. He felt warm, despite the cold compress on his forehead. She knew that things would most likely get worse before they got better. She had seen that plenty of times before. With a sigh, she looked at the clock. Ten minutes to midnight.

Three hours since Charlie had fallen into slumber. Except for an occasional mutter of a word or two, he was silent and relatively calm. With his growing restlessness though she suspected the painkillers were running out.

His brow twitched more often, eyes moving rapidly under the eyelids. Jean knew he would most likely wake up soon.

Lucien and Matthew were still in the living room. She had ventured there a few times when Charlie seemed to be resting peacefully. She listened to their conversation, about illegal fighting rings. About drugs and worse of all, corrupt cops who were to blame for Charlie's state.

There wasn't much she could add, except for the occasional note of disgust over it all. She decided that keeping Charlie company would serve better. At least there she could offer some comfort and remind herself that despite all she heard in the last few hours, Charlie was safe at home with them.

So she returned to him, with a book that lay mostly ignored on the desk. She could hardly focus on the novel, her thoughts jumping between the past hours and what will follow in the next few days. She wished they could call Charlie's mother and reassure her that he was fine. After all... Jean had two sons. She knew what it was like not to know of their whereabouts, what it was like to hear bad news and worry. It didn't matter that they were adults with own children. For all she cared, they could be sixty years old and she would still worry. To know that something was wrong but be unable to help... that was hell.

These thoughts made her feel all the more determined to see Charlie through. So she sat on the chair that stopped being comfortable after the first twenty minutes. She kept changing the cold compress on his head and occasionally tucked in his arm when it slipped off the bed.

"How is he doing?"

Jean turned and her face relaxed into a smile. Lucien walked up to her and rubbed her shoulders soothingly. He leaned down for a kiss and she was relieved when she smelled coffee on his breath instead of the whiskey.

"You planning on staying awake?" she asked as they parted, receiving a nod.

"I'll try at least. Today was a long day."

"The night will feel even longer," she noted with a sigh. "His fever isn't coming down."

Blake reached out to check for himself, then nodded.

"I didn't expect it to this soon. The antibiotics need some time to work and he was pretty run down."

"But they should work?"

"Let's hope so. Why don't you let me take over? Get some sleep."

Jean shook her head.

"You need to get rest too. You have several patients scheduled for the morning and early afternoon. I might be able to call off one or two, but not all of them at this point."

Blake sighed, running a hand over his brows.

"Yes, of course. I'll manage, don't worry."

She worried though. She knew her husband and knew he wouldn't really rest until Charlie was out of the woods. Even if it meant staying up for the next two days. Unfortunately, a tired Lucien wasn't the easiest to deal with and she had a feeling things won't go smoothly. Not to mention there was still the chance that he would be needed on a case.

"Maybe we can take shifts then? Your first patient won't arrive until ten. I can do with four hours of sleep and you would get some rest too."

"That's not-" _necessary_ , she knew he wanted to say that. But she looked up at him imploringly and he paused. "-a bad idea," he finished then with a twitch of his lips.

"Wonderful. I'll set the alarm then." She stood from the chair, leaving it for him. She looked at Charlie and saw his face turn into a grimace of discomfort. His lips moved and his breath sped up. The compress slipped off and down to the bed as he tossed his head from side to side, getting more and more agitated.

"I think he's having a nightmare," she said and Blake nodded. "Should we wake him?"

Blake was already giving Charlie's face a light pat.

"Charlie? Wake up," he called out, keeping his voice neutral.

It took a bit of coaxing, but Charlie's eyes fluttered open. He looked most of all confused, as if unable to process where he was or what was happening. He instinctively recoiled from Blake's touch, which sent him closer to the edge of the bed. Jean realized that if he got startled, he would most likely try and pull back more, resulting in a fall.

"It's alright Charlie, you're home. You're safe," she said soothingly and Charlie's eyes turned her way. They were bright from fever, the blue darker than usual, the left one red from the bruising on his temple.

"Jean?" he spoke, his voice painfully croaky. "Doc?" his brows furrowed. He looked around, noticing the surgery and somehow unable to put all of it together.

"What... what's going on?" he asked and the confusion was now mixed with growing panic.

Blake put a calming hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting up.

"Everything's alright, don't worry. You were having a nightmare so we thought better to wake you up."

Charlie blinked.

"What?"

Jean gently nudged Lucien to sit down in the chair. After all, no one liked people towering over them, especially when they were sick. Lucien caught on and sat down, while Jean moved to the other side of Charlie's bed so she could take hold of his hand and try to calm him down that way.

"Do you remember what happened?" Lucien asked and they waited several long seconds. Charlie's frown deepened as he was trying to figure it out, but then it was as if a light bulb went off.

"Oh. I'm home," he said and the wariness had visibly left his body.

"Indeed you are," Blake said with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

Charlie grimaced as he contemplated the answer. In the end he just sighed.

"That good huh?"

"Still cold," Charlie muttered, pulling the blanket higher up. He tried to turn onto his side and pull his legs closer to his body, but the narrow bed and the various pains stopped him mid movement. Jean could see how miserable he was and she felt like hugging him. Of course that probably wouldn't have helped any.

"Maybe he would feel better in a real bed?" she asked softly, aiming her question at Blake. She thought that he might also be more comfortable keeping Charlie company in the bedroom where the chairs were softer.

"Yes please," Charlie caught on before Blake could protest. He rolled his eyes.

"Well, how can I refuse both of you?"

Jean smiled.

"Do you feel up to the trip?" Blake asked Charlie with a raised eyebrows.

Charlie nodded. He looked determined to be out of the surgery and on a more familiar turf. His enthusiasm however lasted only so long as he threw off the blanket. His body was wrecked in shivers and he looked down at the cut up pants. He haven't noticed before but one side was marred with dried up blood.

Charlie grimaced in disgust.

"Need clothes," he muttered, tugging at the waist of the pants to try and peel away the dirty material.

"Why don't you take those off? I'll bring you something clean in the meantime," Jean said and Charlie's eyes shot up, his pale cheeks getting just a flush of redness.

Jean rolled her eyes, barely hiding a chuckle.

"Come on now, don't be shy. I raised two boys. You hardly have anything I haven't seen before."

Blake chortled and Jean paused. Well, she probably could've said it better.

Charlie was staring at her wide eyed and it would've been comical if not for the stark bruises on his skin.

"Now now dear... that's hardly something any man wants to hear," Blake added and got a slap on the arm in response.

"Lucien! Get your head out of the gutter! Charlie... you know what I meant."

Charlie swallowed and nodded. The crimson still hadn't left his cheeks though. Jean took pity on him.

"Oh alright. I'm going, so you can have some privacy. Any preferred clothing?"

"Pants only," Blake noted. "Short ones. Will be easier to keep an eye on that leg."

Jean nodded and headed out of the room. She heard Charlie's groan and Lucien making another teasing comment.

Truly... men. They could be like children sometimes.

She made her way up to Charlie's room, only to belatedly realize that Matthew had taken up residence there. She knocked on the door, glad to find him still awake.

"What's wrong?" Lawson asked, sitting up in the bed, ready to jump out. Jean shook her head.

"Nothing. Sorry to disturb you... I just wanted to grab some clothes for Charlie. We will move him to your room now." She walked over to the drawer and grabbed several different articles. After all, she didn't want to have to disturb Matthew every time Charlie needed a change of clothes or a pair of socks.

"Do you need some help with that?" he asked, looking at Jean's full hands.

"With picking out clothes or moving him?"

"Moving," Lawson rolled his eyes. "I am not getting anywhere near his underwear or socks. They are stored by colour. Who even does that?"

"People who don't want to grab different coloured socks early morning?"

"That's why normal folks buy only black socks."

Jean shook her head, smiling. She wasn't sure if Lawson was trying to cheer her up with a little banter or if he was doing it for his own benefit, but in either case it was helping. Finally, she had all she thought Charlie might need for the next day. If not, he could always borrow something from Matthew, she thought with an inner smirk. Lawson shot her a suspicious glare. Maybe that smirk managed to make its way on her face after all. Oh well.

She bid him good night, trying to ignore his grumbling about too soft pillows and too many blankets. Jean knew for sure that the pillows in Matthew's room were just as soft and fluffy.

She made a quick detour to the room in question, depositing the clothes on the table. She was pleasantly surprised that Matthew had changed the bed sheets and made the bed ready for Charlie. One less thing to worry about.

When she returned to the surgery, Charlie was sitting on the edge of the bed, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a grimace of discomfort painting his face. Blake was standing next to him, one hand offering support so that he didn't fall over.

"Ah, here you are. Charlie was debating whether his shyness was more important than getting to the bathroom."

Charlie cringed then shot Blake a glare. Jean gave him a look of understanding, pointedly ignoring her husband.

"Here you go Charlie," she handed him the knee short pants. Charlie took them, though he looked like he was fresh out of energy. It was clear he didn't feel like bending over or rising his leg. But he also wasn't about to give up and walk out in his underwear, even though it would have hardly mattered. Blake seemed to take pity on him at least. He offered his help and Jean decided to give them some privacy by turning around, even though the soft cursing and occasional grunt from both men made her question the wisdom of that. Finally there was a relieved sigh and when she turned, Charlie was half standing, half leaning against the bed. His face was flushed, this time from exertion and he looked ready to lie down.

"If you want to try this later, it's no problem," Blake spoke but Charlie shook his head.

"No. Bathroom," he grumbled and Blake gave a nod of understanding.

"Alright then. Here, let me help," he navigated Charlie's left arm around his shoulders, supporting his injured side. Jean quickly stepped beside them, taking hold of the bottle attached through the IV. She had her hand poised over Charlie's back, but didn't touch him unless he faltered.

The way to the bathroom was slow and had both Jean and Blake grimace in sympathy. Charlie was breathing heavily and looked dismayed about the fact. Of course once they reached the bathroom door, he tried to push away from Blake but found out he was still tethered to the IV and had trouble staying upright without any support.

"Uh... thanks, I'll just..." Charlie reached out for the bottle in her hand, determined to see this through.

Jean opened her mouth to protest, but stayed silent. After all, there were things she was sure Charlie wouldn't live down. Blake rolled his eyes, grabbed the bottle before Charlie could and nudged the man inside.

"I'll take care of this," he said to Jean. "Could you please make sure there's some water in the room?"

Jean nodded, happy to leave the boys to it. She could hear Charlie's protest over Blake's presence, but Lucien shut him up quickly with an argument about not wanting to pick him up from the bathroom floor with another concussion.

Jean rolled her eyes. Really, men. Was it so hard to accept some help?

By the time Charlie and Lucien made it to the room, it looked as if Charlie was already asleep and moving only on instinct. Jean helped Lucien situate him on the bed and nudged the glass of water to Charlie's lips when he looked around in confusion.

He took a few sips, then closed his eyes before either of them could urge him to sleep.

"It's okay, he needs the sleep," Blake assured her when she looked at him with concern. "I doubt he got much sleep in the last few days."

"I wish he would've called us," Jean sighed, tucking the blanket up over Charlie's shoulders, ignoring the slightly amused look Blake shot her at that.

"He had his reasons not to," he said with a shrug. Jean knew he would be the one most understanding, with all the secret operations in his past. It still irked her however.

"He's not a spy, Lucien. He wanted to be a detective. Not let some asshole beat him half to death," she said in a low tone, not wanting to disturb Charlie but also unable to hide her own emotions.

Blake reached out and pulled her into his embrace.

"He did what he thought was necessary. He's back now, that's what's important," he said soothingly and Jean let out a sigh. She was still mad but it was late and really... Lucien wasn't the one deserving her ire. Maybe Charlie... a little bit, for risking his life like that. But one look at his sleeping form chased the thought out of her head. He had already paid the price. She wouldn't be the one to give him a lecture or question his decisions. After all, she was pretty sure Matthew or Lucien will have a word or two about the matter with Charlie once he was feeling better. For now, they had to focus on getting him back to his feet.

Her husband had pulled up a chair and leaned back, grabbing the first book he found on Lawson's bedside table for further perusal. It just happened to be Edgar Allan Poe's short stories. Blake had already read those but Jean supposed there were worse ways to spend the next few hours.

"Do you want me to bring you something?" she asked as he looked up from the book.

"The bottle of whiskey from the living room?" he teased.

"I think the two of you had mostly finished it tonight," she replied even as Blake shook his head.

"It's alright. I think me and my book are all set, thank you dear. Go get some sleep."

She leaned down and gave him a kiss, then headed up for the bed. It would be harder to fall asleep with the other side empty, but the look at the clock and the realization it would ring in only few hours made her close her eyes anyway.

* * *

It was a long night. Jean didn't get much sleep, but she assumed no one really did. When her alarm started ringing at four in the morning, she almost threw a pillow on it. Yawning, she took a few minutes to wake up properly, then put on her robe and walked to Matthew's room.

She found Lucien cleaning up some supplies. Charlie appeared to be sleeping restlessly, his brow furrowed and mouth moving occasionally.

"How is he?" she asked as Lucien turned towards her, eyes tired and reddish in the light of the bedside lamp. He still put on a smile.

"Holding on. I changed the wrap on his leg, he got a dose of meds. He should be good till morning."

Jean walked up to Blake, running a hand up and down his arm, then resting her palm on his face.

"You should go get some sleep too. I'll wake you if anything happens."

Lucien gave her palm a kiss and nodded.

"Keep an eye on that fever if you can," he said, giving Charlie one last look. A yawn split his face and he shook his head.

"Lucien," she said pointedly and he raised his hands in surrender.

"I'm going, am going."

She stood in place until he truly left, then turned her attention back to Charlie. A quick touch told her the fever was still there, so she took the lukewarm compress from his forehead, dipped it in the basin and wrung it out.

"What shall we do with you, Charlie?" she muttered softly as she ran the cloth first over his face to clean up the sweat.

Charlie didn't reply, though he did turn his head slightly. Jean sighed, unable to pester him even in his sleep. She finished her ministrations, for the moment content to lean back in the chair and watch the time pass by.

The morning couldn't come fast enough.

Jean found herself nodding off on occasion, so she brought her knitting into the room. It was a better way to spend time than looking at the blasted stubble on Charlie's face or counting the wrinkles around his eyes when he grimaced, caught in the midst of a nightmare.

She spoke to him whenever that happened, running her hand over his hair in an attempt to sooth. She changed the water in the basin for fresh one and had to deal with Charlie's mumbled protests over it being too cold. Eventually he settled down.

By the time morning came and the rest of the house began waking up, Charlie seemed to be sleeping almost peacefully. She dared to leave his side long enough to prepare some coffee and a quick breakfast for Matthew and Lucien, even though the latter would wake up later.

"Slept well?" she asked when Matthew sauntered downstairs, grumbling about the stupid bed. He shot her one glance, saw the tired look on her face and clammed up shut.

"Probably better than you," he admitted, nodding his thanks as she handed him a cup of steaming hot coffee, while she sat down with her own cup. "How's Charlie?"

"Asleep," she said, unable to give him a better answer. She wasn't sure what happened to the young sergeant during the last two weeks, well... not exactly sure. His description of the events seemed to omit more than a few details. However, his restlessness and the occasional word or two he uttered during his sleep made her think that Charlie would need more than just few days to shake this off.

"What are your plans for the day?" she asked Matthew while he was gruffly looking at his breakfast plate, seemingly lost in contemplation.

"You mean except for the usual work load?"

Jean snorted and Lawson sighed.

"I'll have to call a friend and make some... subtle inquiries. I would go through the official channels, but I'm afraid that might endanger Charlie at this moment."

Jean frowned.

"Do you really think he could be in danger, here in Ballarat?"

Lawson shrugged.

"I don't know. But based on how desperate O'Leary seems to get his hands on him... I think this goes pretty high. Better safe than sorry."

"Should I be on the lookout for strangers around the house?"

"Seeing as you married one of the biggest trouble magnets in this town, I'd say that should go without saying," Lawson said with a grin and Jean rolled her eyes.

"I'd advise carefulness, but no need to panic."

"I never panic," she stated matter of factly. "With Lucien around, I would have to be in constant panic after all."

Lawson chuckled, raising his cup of coffee in agreement.

After Lawson left for work, Jean went to check on Charlie. He was in the same position she left him, though he was visibly sweating now. She crinkled her nose and decided to change his sheets as soon as he woke up. A quick temperature check showed that it was down almost half a degree. Jean allowed herself to relax some.

The morning seemed to pass by quickly after she woke up Lucien. The first patient appeared and she had to focus between manning the phone, taking appointments, preparing lunch and looking in at Charlie every so often.

She was in the middle of peeling the veggies for the chicken soup. Broth was always her go to food when someone in the family got sick. And even though Charlie wasn't coming down with the flu, she was sure he would need to build up his strength anyway after that fever. She was softly humming a tune, cutting up the last carrot, when she heard the crash.

Jean froze, for a second thinking it must've come from the surgery. But that was two doors down and this sounded closer. Like the room where their wayward tenant was currently residing.

Jean put down the knife and the carrot, turned the fire down under the pot and dashed towards Charlie's room.


	17. The Nightmare

He felt cold.

Charlie was aware that he was shaking. His teeth weren't chattering because he kept them clenched tight. His jaw hurt, but the sound would just make his headache worse. He didn't want to wake Blake either.

The doc was there, Charlie knew. He was sleeping in the chair, a book sitting on his lap, snoring slightly. Charlie watched him from beneath half open eyelids, unsure if he was awake or dreaming.

His mind was filled with images he'd rather forget. Every time he closed his eyes, turned his head or hell, even just breathed wrong, he was taken back to some different moment he couldn't escape.

_He was back in the basement, sitting on the stairs, waiting. The walls were just a bit closer, looming over him, the air hotter. Too hot, almost as if there was a fire. His breathing sped up as he turned around and pounded on the door, shouting to be let out._

_The door opened and he crashed through, but instead of the hall he was in the ring. There was the guy whose knee he busted, bleeding and growling, charging at him. Charlie jumped to the side, right into the cage and he was expecting Caleb with the knife but instead there was Beast, growling and slobbering. The dog's teeth glinted and Charlie could only stand paralysed as it bit his leg._

"No," Charlie hissed, pulling back.

His leg hurt.

"Hush, it's alright. It's just me," a voice spoke from the direction of the pain.

Charlie tried to pull back, but there was a firm hand wrapped around his knee, holding it in place.

"Charlie! It's me, Lucien."

Charlie stilled, his eyes finally focusing on the Doc. The man was watching him, unmoving. Charlie swallowed, his eyes shooting around the room. It was dark, only the bedside lamp was turned on, pulled next to the bed to aim at his leg.

"Doc?" Charlie asked, confused. "What're ya doing?"

"Just wanted to check the leg and change the wrapping before Jean comes to replace me," Blake explained and Charlie noticed there was a fresh wrap on his leg. It still hurt though.

"Is it worse?" he asked and his stomach clenched. He didn't want to lose his leg. He also didn't want to go through what Blake was doing earlier in the evening. Charlie had enough of pain for the next year he thought.

"Not worse," Blake said somehow hedgingly.

"Better?" Charlie asked, but he doubted that. He would have to feel better surely if that was the case.

"Let's give it more time," Blake said with a smile that was meant to reassure but instead made Charlie let out a groan of apprehension.

"Now now, none of that," Blake pulled the blanket back over Charlie's leg, then patted his arm. "It's still early."

Charlie wouldn't know.

"What time?" he asked, trying to figure that out, but the drapes were closed. It was still dark, but... he had no way of knowing how long he had slept. It could've been an hour or a whole day. His body felt stiff and achy, his flesh too tight and too hot.

"It's around four in the morning. Go back to sleep."

Charlie didn't want to. He knew the moment he closed his eyes, he would be lost in nightmares and there was no telling when he would manage to escape again. He wished he could just get up and take a walk in the crisp night air. Take a shower or hell... even just sit up without feeling like the world was a merry go round.

Unfortunately, he lacked the energy needed even to articulate these thoughts, not to mention actually moving. The only thing he could say was 'thirsty' and then 'thanks' when Blake held the glass so he could take few wonderfully cool sips of water. A hand ghosted over his brow and only then did Charlie realize he had closed his eyes.

Something wet and cold was put over his forehead and for a second it irked the wound on his eyebrow, but then the coolness brought relief. He heard the door to the room open and Jean softly enquiring, but Blake's response was lost on him. Sleep had once again pulled him into its grasp.

Time stopped making sense.

Every time he managed to open his eyes the person sitting by his side changed. He could've sworn at one point he saw Lawson standing at the door, frowning silently. Charlie knew it must've been a dream, nothing else.

Sometimes, he felt afraid. There was this feeling of threat, a dream of running, being chased. Then there was the knife and there was Caleb, but things weren't the same.

_Caleb looked scared, his eyes wide with warning. Charlie felt a punch from behind. Even before his hand reached at his back, he knew he would find the knife there. What he didn't expect was to see his brother Ray holding onto it._

" _No, not you," Charlie whispered before he fell to his knees._

" _You left me, you left us! What did you expect?" Ray shouted into his face. Charlie opened his mouth, but he couldn't speak. Couldn't protest._

_He coughed and felt the iron taste of blood on his lips. The pain was nothing though to the image of his bother, eyes filled with hatred. Eyes with pupils so wide he couldn't see their colour anymore. Hands shaking, needle tracks in the forearm instead of the boxer gloves._

_Charlie whimpered even as his body sank to the ground._

He didn't want this. He didn't want his brother to go on the wrong path, didn't want to face what could've happened if there wasn't someone holding in the reins. Someone to keep his brothers on the right track.

"It's alright, you're alright Charlie," a familiar voice sounded from above and his brother vanished. Caleb was gone too and Charlie was once again left in the darkness. Nothing but a floating body, trapped in the night. The air was hot, suffocating.

Something icy touched his skin and Charlie whimpered. It felt like ice picks stabbing through his skin. It was too cold and he tried to push it off, but it was relentless. Charlie tossed and protested but there was nothing he could do. His arms didn't respond, the thing stayed in place, burning his skin with cold.

Soothing words kept coming and slowly he started to calm down. The cold was almost bearable now. Almost nice in the heat surrounding him, wrapping around his limbs, keeping him weighed down as if there was nothing but gravity.

Sometimes, Charlie opened his eyes.

Sometimes, he saw a familiar face, felt a gentle touch. Sometimes there was pain and he tried to escape that but he couldn't. The voices were still there though, through all of it and the pain always passed.

Time slipped by and he felt like nothing mattered anymore. Like nothing was real.

There was a point though when it all stopped.

Charlie thought he might weep with relief.

Instead... he opened his eyes.

First thing he saw was the white ceiling.

He was lying on a bed, a blanket wrapped around his body like a shroud. It was damp. The whole bed felt damp from sweat.

Charlie blinked, slowly turning his head.

Nothing made much sense.

All he knew was that things were strange. Things happened but he couldn't focus on any one of them, except for the feeling of being trapped. The suffocating heat was still fresh on his mind and the feeling of the damp blanket wrapped around him made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He couldn't.

The damn thing was clutching to him, keeping him down like a rope. There was something on his forehead and as Charlie moved his head, it slipped down over his eyes.

Charlie's breathing picked up.

_First time the burlap sack was thrown over his head, the musty smell of it, the inability to breath properly._

_Nauseating car drives, Kenneth's muffled chuckles._

_The long walk to the ring... his only clue the excited voices around and the sound of a lock as the cage door slammed shut._

He felt like there wasn't enough air.

He reached up panicking and tossed the thing off his head, gasping for air as he sat upright in the bed. His side screamed at the fast move and it only pushed him further from reality. He could hear the cheering of the crowd, could feel the vibration of their clapping and stomping through the floor.

The feeling of nausea grew and he leaned forward. The blanket tangled around his leg, pulling at the wound, sending more pain to his brain. Charlie whimpered and his hands grasped blindly forward, trying to free himself.

Fumbling, his vision caught in a different place, Charlie managed to pull away from his constraints.

The sudden freedom came more as a surprise as he lurched forward. He had to get away, had to get out.

There was a door.

His feet landed on the floor and he even managed a step or two, when his arm caught on something.

Charlie pulled.

He felt a bit of pain, though it was nothing to what the rest of his body was feeling. There was a crash as something fell and Charlie made another step before his own foot got tangled and trapped.

He fell to his knees, the breath momentarily knocked out of him.

He blinked and looked at his arms.

There was a cast.

There was blood running from his elbow.

The slowly oozing wound dripping crimson chased away all semblance of reality. Everything around seemed to freeze.

Charlie couldn't take his eyes off the blood. In his mind, it wasn't a trickle. In his mind, it was a red pool, on the floor of a ring. Around him lay three bodies covered in bruises and wounds. He was in the middle, on his knees, while a crowd cheered wildly. Calling for one thing only.

" _KILL!"_

The chanting grew and Charlie found himself shaking.

The vision was so strong, so loud... he didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear a voice call out his name in concern.

He didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

All he could see was Kenneth standing in front of him, handing him a knife. A wide grin on his face.

" _Do it, or I will."_

Charlie shook his head.

" _No. No, I won't,"_ he muttered.

Kenneth shrugged. He looked up from Charlie, somewhere behind.

Charlie felt the hair on his neck stand in warning.

Someone was there.

Someone Kenneth shot a smile to.

A hand touched his shoulder.

* * *

When she entered the room, she froze for a second. Charlie was kneeling on the floor, his back to her. She could see the blanket wrapped around his feet, the most likely culprit of the fall. Her eyes noticed the coat hanger Blake used to hang the IV. It was now in semi horizontal position, leaning against the bedside table precariously.

"Charlie?" she called out from the doorway, but he didn't react. She could only see the back of his head so didn't know whether his eyes were even open. His body was shaking, covered in sweat. His breathing sounded harsh... like an animal chased into a corner.

Jean knew she had to approach carefully, especially as he didn't react to her second call. She took a few steps in, then noted the blood running down his right arm where he ripped out the IV.

Carefulness went out the window. She crossed the distance and without thinking put her hand on his shoulder.

The reaction was fast and violent.

She didn't know Charlie was able to move that fast. One moment she was standing, the next she felt a hand connect with her forearm and suddenly she was falling backwards.

She felt the springs of the mattress as she fell onto the bed sideways, the breath knocked out of her momentarily.

The room fell into silence, except for the sounds of harsh breathing. That must've been Charlie, because Jean couldn't seem to get in any oxygen. It was only after she turned her head and saw the utterly terrified look on his face that her lungs seemed to remember their function. She took in a deep breath, then another.

"J-Jean?" Charlie stuttered and Jean raised a hand to request a moment. Few more deep breaths and her own heart started to calm down. She felt the throbbing of her arm and looked to see a reddish spot that would undoubtedly turn into a bruise. She straightened on the bed, running one hand over the spot but paused mid motion when she saw Charlie's eyes following the motion.

To say he was stunned was an understatement.

His eyes were wide as saucers, slightly unfocused, as if he had just woken up from a dream. Or a nightmare, if the terror inside them was anything to go by.

She let out a deep breath, shaking off the momentary shock.

"Are you alright Charlie?" she asked gently and was dismayed to see his whole body wince.

"I... I'm so sorry. God, what... what did I do? I didn't-" he was shaking his head, eyes filling with familiar guilt. Jean frowned, pushing herself off the bed. She was kneeling right next to him, both her palms on his face even as he kept stuttering apologies.

"Charlie!" she said more forcefully than she wanted, but she needed to get through to him. He stopped stuttering, watching her. "It's alright. I'm fine, you didn't hurt me."

"I thought it was... someone else," Charlie said, his eyes pleading for understanding.

Jean nodded fervently.

"I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have came at you like that," she said, even though she did call out to him previously several times. But Charlie clearly hadn't heard her then and now was not the time to throw around blame. "Nothing happened, Charlie. I'm fine. Now let's make sure you are too, alright?"

Charlie swallowed, staring into her eyes, uncertain.

"This is not my room," he said, his voice so low Jean barely heard him. She frowned, looking around. Didn't Charlie recognize Matthew's room? But then, how often had he been there? And it wasn't like there were photos or anything to go by. Just an ordinary room.

"This is Matthew's room. We brought you here so you wouldn't have to climb the stairs. Do you remember?"

Charlie's brows furrowed in thought, then slowly, he nodded. His eyes slipped down, suddenly unable to face Jean.

"Y-yeah. Sorry. I guess I forgot."

"That's alright. You are still running quite a fever," she said, softly moving a lock of hair from his forehead.

"It is hot in here," he nodded seriously and Jean couldn't stop the chuckle. He looked at her with some confusion though and it was clear he still wasn't back to normal.

Jean run her hand up and down his shoulder, pausing at the sight of the slowly bleeding wound. She cringed and reached towards his arm, putting pressure slightly above it. Charlie's eyes followed what she was doing, but it was as if he wasn't all there. Jean started to wonder if this was still just the effect of the fever and sleep, or if there was something wrong.

"Charlie, did you hurt anything when you fell?"

Charlie blinked, a small furrow appearing at the top of his nose.

"I fell?"

Jean sighed.

"Here... can you put your fingers here and hold?" she asked while navigating his other hand to the spot she was pressing. She cringed when she saw the cast getting smeared by some of the blood, but there were more important things to do than worry about that.

"Alright, good job. Now I want you to hold it and stay where you are, okay? I will be right back."

His eyes followed her lazily until she got up to her feet and turned to head for the door.

"Wait, you leaving?" he asked with a hint of panic.

Jean turned back towards him.

"Only for a minute, Charlie. I need to talk to Lucien."

Hearing the name seemed to calm him down a bit and he took another look around the room, trying to place himself. His eyes landed on the door.

"Can you..." Charlie started then paused, looking embarrassed.

"What?" Jean pressed for him to continue. She didn't feel right leaving him alone upset if there was something that could help.

"-leave it open," Charlie muttered, his eyes suddenly stuck to the floor.

"Oh. Of course," Jean said softly and left the door slightly open. She would've left if wide ajar if not for the fact there was a chance of a patient passing by and spotting Charlie in his state. They were trying to keep his presence a secret after all.

She made her way towards the surgery, hoping that Lucien was mostly done with his patient. She knocked on the door and entered. Mrs. Hendricks was seated in the chair in front of Blake's desk, talking about her newest grandchild, while Lucien was obviously trying to suppress a yawn. Jean would've smiled if she hadn't known why her husband was so tired mid afternoon. As it was she gave Mrs. Hendricks a smile, apologized for the disruption and walked up to Lucien.

Blake's eyes had glinted in appreciation, a small smile adorning his face as he looked at her. It warmed her heart that even after several years of knowing each other, her presence in the room was enough to light him up. Unfortunately, this wasn't just a friendly visit to save him from Mrs. Hendricks's stories.

"What's the matter, dear?" he asked, a smidge of concern that no one else would note colouring his voice.

"I'm afraid I had a bit of mishap in the kitchen. Might need your help once you finish here."

"Oh dear, did you cut yourself on something?" Mrs. Hendricks asked, her hearing obviously not one of things that ailed her. Jean raised an eyebrow in question and followed the woman's look down to her fingers and the spots of blood on her skirt. Jean haven't noticed those before.

"Oh no, that's just... tomato sauce. I'm making pasta for lunch," she said with a smile. "I dropped something in the sink and can't get it out," she added, turning towards Blake, trying to dissuade any more questions.

"I'll be right there," Blake said, his eyes asking if there was a serious problem or not. It was more than clear to him Jean was fibbing. Jean gave a slight shake of head to calm him down.

"Thank you. Well, I better go and... clean up, I suppose," she said. "Have a nice day, Mrs. Hendricks," she said and left before the woman could say something else.

Jean wasn't happy about the fact they had to lie and tiptoe about Charlie's presence, but she recognized the fact some of Lucien's patients were the biggest gossipers in Ballarat. Better if they thought her clumsy than find out about Charlie. It will be bad enough once he got back on his feet and started appearing in town she supposed.

She stopped at the bathroom to grab some band aids at least, unsure how fast could Lucien get rid of his patient. When she returned back to the room she found Charlie in the exact same spot, sitting on the floor with a mildly horrified look on his face. Luckily, he at least kept his hand in place. When Jean approached carefully, he looked up at her and she knew he was more aware than before. His eyes guiltily slipped to her arm where a bruise was forming.

"Hey there," she said with a smile and squatted down next to him.

"Am sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't mean to hurt you."

Jean shook her head.

"Stop with that," she muttered. "Charlie, can you look at me?" she asked, feeling exasperated when his eyes couldn't meet hers. She touched his chin, gently nudging him to look up. When he finally did she had to force down a sigh. He looked like a kicked dog... literally.

"What if it had been the other way around?"

Charlie's brows furrowed.

"Huh?"

"What if I was the one being caught in a nightmare and you decided to wake me up? What if I grabbed the first thing nearby and smashed it on you? Would you blame me for getting startled too?"

Charlie shook his head.

"No. But that's different," he said.

"Oh. How so?" Jean raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well... you are..." Charlie paused.

Jean waited.

The corner of her lips twitched in an attempt not to smile, but Charlie must've caught that.

"I mean... it's... different," he stuttered and looked away, though this time it wasn't as much from guilt as fear of insulting her.

"Because I'm a woman? Charlie... do you think I would do less damage with say... a lamp, than you did by showing me aside?"

Charlie was smart enough not to comment on that.

"That's what I thought. Now... no more talk about this. There's nothing you need to feel guilty about, understood?"

Charlie gave a gruff nod. Jean sighed. She knew this was mostly just to placate her, that it will take a bit of time for Charlie to stop feeling guilty. After all, he was raised to respect women and never raise a hand to one. Even though this was a total accident.

She used the time before Blake arrived to put a band aid on the wound on his arm and helped him extricate his legs from the tangled up blanket.

"Ah, are we having a slumber party on the floor?" asked a voice from the door, causing both of them to jump slightly. "One I wasn't invited to?"

Blake sauntered into the room, looking almost aloof, though Jean saw it was just a show. Charlie had frozen momentarily, shooting a startled look towards Jean. As if afraid that she would accuse him of attacking her, right there in front of Blake. Jean pushed down the urge to sigh and leave in search for some sherry. That could wait. Instead she stepped away from Charlie, making space for Lucien.

"I would've told you about it, but it was a spur of the moment event," Jean said easily.

"Hm. I can see that. Been a bit rowdy, haven't you Charlie?" Blake noted the fallen coat hanger. He reached for Charlie's arm, peeling off the band aid. The site had stopped bleeding already.

"Fortunately, it doesn't look like there's any damage," he noted, inspecting the wound. "What happened?" he asked and looked from Charlie to Jean when there was no quick answer oncoming. Jean waited too but when she saw that Charlie was watching the blanket now lying in a heap next to him, she gave up.

"I was in the kitchen when I heard the crash," she admitted, feeling just a tinge of guilt herself over leaving Charlie alone. Maybe she should've stuck around a bit longer and made lunch later. No, she decided. Guilt never solved anything and this was just a small mishap as she said before. "I found him on the floor, a bit confused."

Blake's eyes slid down to Jean's skirt with the blood spots, pausing at the bruise on her arm. He frowned but Jean gave him a sharp shake of head, warning from even thinking about posing the question. Fortunately Charlie didn't seem to notice the exchange, trying to pretend he didn't exist.

"What were you trying to do, Charlie?" Blake turned back to the patient in question, waiting patiently for an answer.

Charlie sighed, bit his lip.

"Got confused," he admitted. "Thought I was back at the basement."

"So you were trying to get out? And tripped?"

"Yeah."

Blake was waiting for more, but it wasn't coming. Finally he gave up.

"Alright. Let's get you up off the floor and back to bed so I can check you didn't hurt anything."

"Wait," Jean said as Blake was helping Charlie up to his feet. "Can you move to the chair for a moment? I think I'd like to change the sheets first," she said.

"Right. Good idea," Blake noted even as he was navigating Charlie towards the chair. Charlie grimaced, obviously not so happy about having Jean doing it, but realizing he wasn't in any condition to change the sheets himself. In the end, he just sniffled, face scrunching up in disgust.

"I need a shower," he muttered.

Blake chuckled.

"Yes, but I think it should wait a bit," he noted as he started checking Charlie over. By the time he finished, Jean had the bed ready and Charlie looked too happy to just plop down into it face down, hoping to let the pillows suffocate him. Blake's prodding obviously awakened most of his hurts and aches.

"Well, you seem to be in luck," Blake called out with a smile as he finished the check. "No new breaks or bruises, even the stitches held."

Charlie let out a sigh of relief.

"Great. Can I go back to my room?"

Blake quirked his head.

"What, now that Jean did all the work of changing the sheets?"

Charlie's face flushed.

"Lucien, stop nagging the boy," Jean told him in mock exasperation. "He is right though. You should stay here a bit longer. I need to finish making lunch and I'd prefer not to hear you tumbling down the stairs."

"Yes indeed. Not to mention, that would just give Matthew one less thing to grumble about. I heard he is truly enjoying your bed."

Charlie looked at them in slight disbelief, but didn't have the energy to argue. He shrugged.

"Wonderful. Into bed with you."

Blake helped Charlie over to the mattress. It was only after he was lying down and tucked in that Jean noted the coat hanger on the floor.

"What about that?" she asked Lucien. Charlie followed her look and cringed.

"Ah yes," Blake noted, giving Charlie a thoughtful look. "Actually, I think we can get rid of that for now. I was planning on taking it out once the drip finished anyway, but Charlie here beat me to it," he said with a grin, then turned serious.

"As long as you keep hydrated and eat something. I don't want to give you pills on empty stomach."

Charlie nodded eagerly.

"I'll try."

"Wonderful. Now... I'm expecting one more patient. Why don't you try to get back to sleep? We will wake you up for lunch."

Charlie nodded hesitantly. It was obvious he didn't really want to go back to sleep, but his body had its own mind. He yawned and his eyes slipped closed.

Jean and Blake were by the door already when he called out:

"Doc?"

"Yes Charlie?"

"Did... did you hear from my mom?"

"Not since last night, no," Blake said with a confused frown. "I think Matthew was planning to call her tonight though."

"Could you... make sure?" Charlie yawned again.

"Of what?"

"That they're safe."

"Your family?"

Charlie nodded, though his eyes were already closed.

"Of course. Don't worry about it, Charlie."

"Thanks," he muttered and turned his head, burrowing his cheek in the pillow.

Blake and Jean exchanged a look, then quietly left the room. Blake was about to close the door when Jean stopped him.

"Leave it open," she said in a low voice. "I want to hear if he starts moving around," she said as an explanation, even though it was only half the truth. She knew that one of the reasons Charlie panicked was the closed door on a room that was foreign to him. Maybe seeing that he had the option to leave, even if half asleep, will calm him down.

Blake followed her to the kitchen and only once they were out of Charlie's earshot did he reach for her arm to inspect the bruise.

"What really happened?" he asked, brushing his finger gently over the irritated skin. Jean rolled her eyes. It was hardly anything serious and she was getting way more irritated by the reaction of the men around her.

"Nothing you need to be concerned about Lucien," she said sharply, but instantly regretted it as she saw the hurt look on Lucien's face. She sighed.

"I startled him, that's all. Whatever happened in those last two weeks has him rattled."

Blake nodded.

"Yes, I noticed. I think I made the same mistake when I approached him at the bus station."

"Don't bring it up before him," she pleaded. "He feels guilty as is."

"I won't. Just be more careful. I don't want either of you hurt."

She smiled and put a palm on his cheek.

"I do love you Lucien," she said, leaning in for a kiss.

"Still?" he asked with a boyish smirk.

"Always," she said with a chuckle, then gave his cheek a light pat. "Now go. I think I can hear your next patient knocking," she said as there was the knocking on the door. Blake sighed and pulled out of her embrace reluctantly.

"I should have taken the day off," he muttered halfway out the kitchen. Jean chuckled and turned towards the stove. Well, the soup won't make itself, she thought and turned on the burner.


	18. Home truths

It had been a long day, especially because he had to try to dig out some information without it being too obvious. By the time he made it home, he was irritated and cranky. Hobart kept shooting him questioning glances which Lawson pointedly ignored.

So far, he had more questions than answers. As the day progressed, Lawson found himself more upset than he wanted to admit. Not even the fact Charlie was doing better made his irritation go away.

Still, he ate the dinner at the table and attempted not to show any of his feelings.

Unfortunately, both Jean and Lucien were perceptive people. They glanced at each other and without a word, Lucien poured him a glass of whiskey. He poured himself a shot as well and Jean got a glass of sherry as they settled in the living room. Charlie was currently asleep in Matthew's bed and that was just one more point of Matthew's disgruntlement.

"What's eating you?" Blake asked after a moment.

"You mean besides a too nosy police surgeon?"

Blake quirked an eyebrow.

"You barely said a word."

"Not much to talk about."

"Really? _Nothing_ to talk about?"

Lawson sighed, taking a sip, then shook his head.

"Not yet."

Blake frowned.

"Your contact didn't give you any information?"

"It takes time. And the higher the problem, the longer it takes."

Blake gave a slow nod. Jean was settled next to him, half buried in his side. They both looked as if they hadn't slept a wink.

"Listen... why don't you two take a nap or something?" Lawson spoke up suddenly. Jean shot him a suspicious look.

"What? You both look done in. Lucien, you said Charlie is doing better. He hardly needs you to sit by his bedside another night."

Blake and Jean shared a look, seemingly uncomfortable. Lawson's eyes narrowed.

"Did something happen?" he asked, sensing that they were keeping things from him.

Blake waved his hand.

"Nothing you need to be concerned about, Matthew. But... I'd rather someone checked in on Charlie regularly tonight. The infection seems to react well to the medication, but it can be a tricky thing."

"Well, I can look in on him once or twice... and you can set an alarm for later if you want to."

Blake still seemed ready to protest, but Jean barely hid a yawn. Matthew gave them a pointed look and soon they were off.

That's how he found himself sitting in Charlie's room... or rather in his own room momentarily occupied by one sleeping senior sergeant.

It didn't take too long for Charlie to notice his presence. Despite Matthew calmly sitting on the chair in the corner of the room and reading a book under the small bedside lamp, barely making any noise, Charlie woke up.

It was easy to notice really. First, his breathing sped up... then it slowed down to a measured pace. Lawson put the book away and saw Charlie's body tensing at the sound he made.

Lawson barely held back an irritated sigh of his own. This was just one more sign that the situation hadn't been under control in the last few weeks. After all, Charlie should know there was nothing to fear in the safety of home.

He was of half mind to speak up and reassure the man it was just him and there was nothing to worry about. But he felt a little bit petty. It was hard not to, seeing the old and recent bruises on his sergeant's face, seeing the usually clean shaved man sporting a stubble that would shortly rival that of Blake's own. Right now, with his eyes closed, body tense and hair dishevelled, Charlie looked like a stranger. Lawson hated that... hated the fact he had to remind himself it was still Charlie, that what he went through was a simple undercover case. That once the bruises healed and the stubble was gone, the old careless Charlie would return.

There was a momentary lull during which neither men moved, few long seconds where neither of them breathed. Then Charlie's eyelids fluttered and finally Lawson could see the familiar blue peeking out from under.

Charlie blinked a few times as his eyes slowly scanned the room. It didn't take long for them to settle on Lawson, who was leaning forward, elbows resting on knees, waiting.

There was a moment where he could swear he saw panic flash through Charlie's eyes, but then they focused on his face and Charlie's whole body relaxed.

"Boss," he breathed out and looked around in some confusion. "What're you doing here?"

Lawson raised a brow.

"Well, it is my room if I'm not mistaken," he said, unable to help himself. The sudden blush on Charlie's face as he realized that almost made his anger evaporate. Only almost though.

"Sorry," Charlie said and made an effort to sit up. Lawson wasn't sure if he was actually planning on leaving the room, but he wasn't about to wait and see. He got up and pulled the chair across the room before Charlie could as much as throw off the blanket. He settled back in it, now properly facing Charlie, who squirmed under the sudden gaze.

"Uh... boss? I... I can go to my room," he offered, almost hopefully.

Lawson shrugged.

"I think that's up to Blake. Seeing as both he and Jean are asleep, you will have to wait."

Charlie swallowed, his eyes turning into a thoughtful frown. He glanced around the room, at the clock on the bedside table. The time seemed to confuse him, but he didn't ask. Lawson hid a smirk. It was barely past nine, so Blake and Jean sleeping weren't something usual.

"They had a long night yesterday," he had the need to add. "For some reason, they spent most of it awake... taking care of a reckless fool."

At that, Charlie once again froze, staring at Lawson. Lawson was glad to see his eyes were mostly clear. He still looked a bit feverish but Lawson would be sooner caught dead than checking Charlie's temperature while the man was awake.

"You're angry," Charlie stated and Lawson leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. Charlie seemed to falter under the glare, but then he straightened his shoulders. Or at least tried to. He was stopped by a wince and a pained grimace crossed his face.

Lawson was _not_ going to offer any sympathy.

If the glare on his face softened a bit, it was purely coincidental.

"I am not _angry._ "

That might've been a lie. Charlie's doubtful look showed that he didn't believe those words either.

"Not at you," Lawson said. Before Charlie could sigh in relief though, Lawson added: "I'm a bit disappointed though."

Even as he said it he wished he could take it back. Not because it wasn't true... but he really didn't enjoy seeing Charlie's face pale more than it already was.

Damn. This was going to be harder than he thought. Maybe he should've just waited until the kid wasn't looking like death warmed over. He wanted to rip him a new one, for scaring the hell out of him when he called them, but it was impossible to do right now. Lawson ran a hand over his face, stifling a frustrated groan.

"Boss?" Charlie's tone was timid, hesitant.

Lawson hated that.

"I think you heard me, Davis," Lawson snapped back, the anger suddenly back. "What on earth were you thinking?"

Charlie looked at him, confused. Then something flashed in his eyes and they turned wide. Charlie shook his head and Lawson was startled to see his body was shaking.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know... I thought- I swear I didn't mean to hurt her!" he babbled, breath coming out fast as he was suddenly struggling to get out of bed.

Lawson was totally lost.

He didn't have a clue what the man was talking about, but his confusion gave way to concern when Charlie managed to pull off the blanket and put his legs onto the floor. His whole body was shaking yet he was determined to get up, to do something.

"What on earth?" Lawson called out and leapt to his feet, putting a restraining arm on Charlie's shoulder. Their eyes met and he was overwhelmed by the guilt staring at him from those blue eyes.

"Hey, calm down! I don't want to wake up the whole house-"

Charlie shook his head.

"I need to apologize," he mumbled and attempted to stand, but two things stopped him. One was Lawson's own hand keeping him down, the other was that the moment he put pressure on the bitten leg, it seemed to cause quite a bit of pain.

"Bloody fool, get back in the bed!" Lawson snapped, losing his patience. He really didn't fancy Jean or Blake bursting through the door and pestering him about getting Charlie worked up.

Charlie faltered and his gaze became unfocused. He looked about a second away from fainting, so Lawson pushed him to lay back down on the bed. He grabbed his legs and positioned them back on the bed as well, trying to ignore the hiss of pain coming from Charlie at the movement. Once it was all done, he even went so far as to throw the blanket over the man. It was purely practical. He didn't want Charlie to catch a cold on top of everything. And he was _not_ tucking him in at all.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Lawson muttered under his breath, while Charlie was trying to get a handle on himself.

"M sorry," Charlie mumbled and Lawson let out a groan of frustration, then sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What are you even apologizing for?" he asked, suddenly feeling more tired than angry. He kind of preferred the latter but it was hard to stay angry when seeing the misery on Charlie's face.

Lawson dug his fingers into the edge of the mattress. He was _not_ going to give Charlie a reassuring pat or fluff up the awkwardly positioned pillow behind his back.

"I pushed her," came the soft words even as Charlie's look turned down, towards the blanket covering his chest. Suddenly he was unable to look at Lawson.

"Pushed who? What are you talking about?" Lawson asked, irritated by the seeming non sequitur, at the same time wondering if Charlie wasn't delirious. Maybe he could arrange that pillow and sneakily check if he wasn't burning up?

"Jean."

Lawson blinked. He wanted to repeat his question, sure that Charlie was confused. The kid would never raise a hand to Jean. After all, he adored her almost as much as his own mother. Lawson was already shaking his head, when he stopped. Jean's and Blake's strange reaction came to mind. Maybe that was it?

Lawson huffed. Great. Something happened and instead of being in the know about it, he now had to try and get the information out of his remorseful sergeant, when all he wanted to do was scold him for going behind his back. He would definitely have to have a word with those two later on, Lawson promised to himself.

Right now though he had to deal with this. Thinking back, it was easy to see where Charlie could have misinterpreted his words as reprimand for whatever happened. Lawson shot a look at the clock. Ten past nine. Great. Was it too late to go grab a shot of that whiskey?

"Whatever you think you have done Davis... I can assure you Jean is perfectly fine."

Charlie shook his head.

"I almost hit her."

Lawson didn't comment on that. He could see plain as sky that Charlie didn't meant to harm anyone. Not to mention, in the state he was in, Lawson doubted he could do much damage. Jean could probably take him down without breaking a sweat.

"Got startled?" he asked instead, trying to lead Charlie to the conclusion that it was indeed only an accident.

Charlie glanced up shortly, then shrugged.

"Didn't hear her," he muttered.

Lawson rolled his eyes.

"Look, I don't know what happened, but I know Jean is alright. And I'm pretty sure that she doesn't blame you. Nor does Lucien."

Charlie didn't say anything. He just pulled his broken arm up to his chest and tried to curl and uncurl his fingers.

Lawson wanted to reach out and grab Charlie's face, make the man look at him and see the truth on his own face. He didn't though. He felt that would be overstepping the familiarity between the two of them. Not to mention, there were other methods of getting Charlie's attention back on the subject at hand.

"In any case, that wasn't what I wanted to talk about." Lawson tried to make his tone stern, but it was hard. Still, he probably managed, seeing as Charlie's eyes shot up, questioning. Worried.

"Boss?"

"I thought you got over your need to please some idiots."

Charlie blinked, genuinely confused.

"I don't understand."

"You went undercover."

Charlie frowned.

"I've got an order," he said.

"From whom? Some idiot you have barely met? Or a guy who you didn't even see?"

"Boss, you know how it goes," Charlie said a bit defensively. "I didn't get much choice."

"I know that you had enough time to give me a call."

"O'Leary said-"

"Not to contact me?" Lawson jumped in, his voice turning cold. "Since when do you blindly follow men like O'Leary? I thought the affair with Munro and the bloody troubles we had to protect Lucien would've been enough to cure you of blind fate."

Charlie shook his head.

"That was different."

"How so?"

"This didn't concern any of you."

Lawson paused. The answer came fast and while Charlie seemed to stand behind his words, the twitching fingers of his right hand had shown his nervousness.

Something wasn't right about it and it took a moment for Lawson to put the picture together. He didn't like what he saw though.

"What were you trying to prove?" he snapped all of a sudden. Charlie startled, looking at him once again with wide eyes.

"Was this some stupid career move?"

The fact Charlie couldn't answer right away was enough of a reply and Lawson snorted, disgruntled.

"Damn it, Davis. I didn't think you would get bored of Ballarat so fast," the disappointment colouring his voice was strong. He couldn't help it though. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was trying to prepare Charlie to become his successor. When Charlie asked about the recommendation for the detective program, Lawson grumbled and worried, but soon figured the man would be back. And having a detective lead the station in a town like Ballarat, with how much of a magnet for trouble the place seemed to be, was quite a good idea. Charlie also didn't mention anything about leaving. But now he went behind his back, risked his life to try and prove something. Maybe to get a better job offer as well.

So Lawson was disappointed. In Charlie for doing so, in himself for believing his plans could work out so easily. What right did he even had? To try and keep Davis in Ballarat?

While Lawson was mulling over all this, reprimanding himself internally, Charlie's face was turning from one of confusion to realization. And whatever conclusion he came to, it wasn't one he was happy about.

"I wasn't planning on leaving," Charlie burst through Lawson's bubble. He was struggling to sit up, clearly not wanting to have this conversation lying down.

Lawson let him, sure that any offer of help would be rebutted.

"You have a fun way of showing that," Lawson snapped back.

Charlie took in a breath, obviously trying to calm down or take some control over his body.

"It... didn't concern you," was all Charlie said, almost coldly.

Lawson's eyes narrowed.

"Pardon me?"

Charlie glared.

"I think I have a right to know that my second in command is about to let himself get beaten half to death in some ridiculous undercover stint!" Lawson said, or maybe shouted. He wasn't sure anymore.

"Why? Does Blake inform you about everything?"

The question came out of the left field.

"What in bloody hell are you talking about?"

Charlie shook his head stubbornly.

"I got an order, I followed it."

"Yeah, look where it got you."

Charlie's face turned a strange shade of red.

"I did _exactly_ what I was supposed to," Charlie grunted, his right arm curling around his stomach. The conversation was obviously stressing him out, but Lawson couldn't stop it now.

"What are you trying to _prove?"_ Lawson repeated his question.

Charlie looked away for a moment, but then his gaze returned and his eyes met Lawson's.

"That I can do it alone too."

Lawson froze.

"Why? Why do you need to do it alone?"

Charlie shrugged.

"I just wanted to know I could do it myself... without you or the Doc. I had to know... that I was good at my job."

"Jesus Christ, Charlie," Lawson let out a breath, one hand rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "Of course you can. Why would you even question yourself?"

Charlie was looking at him a bit awkwardly now. There was surprise in his eyes, but also denial.

"I barely do anything... it's all Blake or you solving cases. And after Ned and how easily Baker got the drop on me..." Charlie shook his head. "I just needed to know."

"Know what?"

"That I can be a good cop."

Lawson didn't know what to say. He wanted to strangle the kid for ever doubting himself. He wanted to tell him how stupid it all was, because anyone who could handle Blake had to be good at their job. Most of all he wanted to tell Charlie that it didn't matter anyway, because they weren't going anywhere.

All those thoughts and emotions battled inside him and the longer it took for him to speak, the more crestfallen Charlie looked. Lawson took a calming breath.

"First of... I don't have a clue why you are doubting yourself. You helped take down Munro, despite Lucien's misgivings about you and I wasn't there holding your hands either. As to what happened to Ned..." Lawson grimaced. He still felt his stomach constrict at the fate of the young constable. And for what reason? Because a deranged father wanted a revenge on Lucien. A young life lost unnecessarily. "That wasn't your fault."

"I should've been there," Charlie said through half clenched teeth.

"No. You were out on a call, doing what you were supposed to do. And about Baker getting the drop over you, it could happen to the best of us. I heard Bill was helping you out in that matter anyway."

Charlie blinked and Lawson's mouth twitched. Of course he knew about the training sessions at the gym. After all, Bill wasn't too keen on giving Charlie a one on one before Lawson had a chance to have a little talk with him.

"You knew?" Charlie asked, sounding taken aback. Lawson rolled his eyes.

"I know about everything that's going on in my town," he said and saw the twitch of amusement in Charlie's eyes. "Don't you dare argue with me on that," he warned and Charlie quickly shut his mouth.

"I'd like to think I know all that is going on with my people as well," Lawson added in a more serious tone. Charlie grimaced.

"I'm not here to argue with you right now, Charlie. I might... understand your motives, not that I agree with the results. But... that's my problem, not yours," Lawson admitted. "You're an adult and if you ever decide to take over the station, you sure as hell need to make your own decisions."

Charlie's head shot up at that, eyes wide in surprise.

"What?"

"You heard me... and I'm not going to repeat myself," Lawson said gruffly, drawing a line at actually giving out some kind of compliment. "Now scoot down and go back to sleep. I can hear someone sneaking in the hall and I don't want to get pestered for keeping you up."

Charlie still looked somehow flabbergasted, but at least that hurt look was off his face. He also gazed towards the door, but that didn't move.

"Boss, I..." Charlie paused, biting on his bottom lip. Lawson waited and he was rewarded by a soft "-thanks."

He sighed.

"Thank me once all this is over," Lawson said wearily, knowing that the trouble still wasn't over. Charlie gave him a slightly remorseful look, but then just silently nodded.

"Alright. Down. I think I need to grab a drink or something, before heading to bed. If you need anything, call out. Someone is bound to hear you."

"Boss?" Charlie called out when Lawson was almost by the door. He turned, uttering a gruff "Yeah?"

"L-leave it open a bit?" Charlie asked, looking at the door. Lawson frowned, but then nodded.

"Was planning to. How else would anyone hear you?"

Charlie's lips twitched into a smile.

Lawson left the room before the bloody fool could thank him again. He had already hit his limit of emotional outpours for one day.

"I thought you would be asleep already. Or well... at least stay in the presence of your lovely wife," Lawson spoke as he entered the living room.

"What can I say. Jean fell asleep on the spot and I decided to see what all the raised voices were about," Blake said, handing him a glass of whiskey while he already had one poured.

"Raised voices?"

"Well, I mostly just heard you," Blake admitted.

"Uh huh," Lawson took the glass and settled on the couch. "Yet you decided to sneak around instead of interfering? How quaint of you, Lucien."

Blake shrugged, taking a sip of the drink.

"You seemed to have it under control. Though I can't say riling Charlie up was the best decision," Blake said with a bit of a scowl.

"It wouldn't have happened if you told me he got in a skirmish with Jean," Lawson bit back.

"Wasn't worth mentioning."

Lawson raised a brow and Blake shrugged.

"You handled it alright."

"I didn't think I would have to handle _that,_ " Lawson growled. Really... he wanted to rip Charlie a new one because he thought he took the case to get in a good word on a promotion. He didn't think Charlie felt so insecure about his abilities as to risk his life heedlessly. That just... didn't seem to be his style.

Blake sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. It seemed that there was more keeping him awake than just an early hour.

"Anything else troubling you, Lucien?" Lawson asked, knowing his friend a bit too well. Blake glanced at him, seemingly lost in thought.

"I didn't think my involvement in the cases would bother Charlie so much," he admitted and Lawson frowned.

"I don't think that's what bothers him," he said frankly. This time it was Blake who quirked an eyebrow in question.

"Well yes, of course. The fact you show your nose into every case might be a pain in the ass. But I figure we all got used to it by now," Lawson waved it off, ignoring Blake's disgruntled look.

"What then?"

"What, you didn't stay to listen to all?"

Blake's look didn't budge.

"He needed to prove himself. I get that actually. Doesn't mean I approve of the method, but what can one do," Lawson said with an air of acceptance.

"And? Do you think this managed to do it?"

Lawson gave it a moments though, then shrugged.

"I don't have a bloody clue."

"You realize this thing isn't over yet," Blake grumbled, the concern clearly palpable in his eyes. Lawson nodded. "He will want to see this through."

"As he should."

"So you will let him? Do this alone?"

Lawson raised a brow at that, his lip quirking up in a smirk.

"He can do whatever he wants."

Blake waited.

"Just like we can do what we want," Lawson added after a second and Blake smiled.

"And what we want is to help," Blake said and Lawson raised his glass.

Of course. After all, Charlie was part of their family. There was no hell or high water that would make them leave Charlie to handle this alone.


	19. Family

Lawson's words rang through Charlie's mind for a long time. Did the man really mean them? Did Charlie even hear right? He wasn't sure. The last few days were all a bit of a blur. The blasted infection from the dog bite lingered and even though his fever had dropped and he was finally allowed back to his own room and bed, Charlie still felt like crap.

Nights were filled with nightmares and an occasional visit by either Blake or Jean checking up on him. Last night he had slept fitfully, tossing around as much as his various wounds and bruises allowed. Blake was there sometime in the middle of the night, waking him up with a glass of water and couple of pills. Charlie didn't know what they were for, but he took them dutifully. Through half closed eyes he watched Blake, bleary eyed looking at the thermometer. At least something seemed to be going well and Blake gave a satisfied smile, which was broken by a yawn.

"Fever's staying down. Good job Charlie," he said and Charlie wondered why he was being praised for something he could hardly influence. He was too sleepy though to poise the question, so he gave a noncommittal sound and burrowed his head back in the pillow. He heard Blake chuckle then felt the pillow under his broken arm being adjusted to a more comfortable position. The bedside lamp turned off and Blake had left the room.

Charlie's ears perked up, expecting to hear the click of the door and turning of the key, but neither came and he relaxed and fell into slumber.

The morning brought a clearer mind, though that was hardly a win. Charlie was quite aware of the fact he had practically attacked Jean while she was only trying to help him. Despite her reassurances, Charlie had trouble looking Jean in the eye when she brought him breakfast. The fact she was acting as if nothing had happened between them didn't make it any easier. Maybe if she had glared at him... or stopped being so damn caring. Each time she carted her hand through his hair or put her palm on his forehead to check for fever, he wanted nothing more than to lean into the touch. But he was feeling guilty and undeserving of all the comfort.

To her credit, Jean managed to pretend nothing was wrong for quite some time. Until this breakfast. When he finished half the plate, pushing the rest away with downcast eyes, she let out a frustrated sigh, clearly reaching her limit.

Charlie risked a glance her way and saw her standing at the foot of his bed with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow, in a stance he was so familiar with seeing, though usually it was aimed at someone else.

For a moment their gazes met. Seeing the fierceness and frustration colouring her usually relaxed face, Charlie broke the contact.

"I'm sorry," he muttered and felt like cringing when she gave a frustrated huff.

"How many times do I need to remind you there's nothing to apologize for?" she asked and the weariness of her tone made Charlie even more ashamed. This wasn't leading anywhere. He was just making her more upset, which would hardly atone for what he perceived as his fault.

"Maybe a dozen more?" he said and glanced up.

Jean paused then let out a chuckle.

"Oh well. In that case, could you perhaps do it while Lucien or Matthew are present? Might show them there's no shame in apologies."

Charlie grimaced.

"I don't think either of them can be taught anything at this point," he said in his most sincere tone and it was so heartening to see Jean laugh. He definitely preferred that to the worried look on her face she wore since he returned home.

Things were a bit easier afterwards. Being back to his own room also had its perks. For one, he didn't feel like breaching Lawson's privacy by merely looking at the wall. And opening his eyes after a nightmare and seeing the familiar room, with photos of his family on the bedside table, made him calm down much faster.

The downside to being there was the fact the living room was too far away. Lawson was staying away from Charlie, whether it was purposeful or not he didn't know. But Charlie didn't feel like chasing the man down. Yet he needed to ask some questions. About what was happening with the case, whether Lawson had any new information.

He tried to ask Jean but she didn't seem to know anything new. Blake simply told him to rest and not to worry about it. Charlie gritted his teeth and decided to try and brave the stairs on his next trip to the bathroom. However, he had fallen asleep before that could occur and next time he woke it was already past midnight. He might've wanted some answers, but wasn't foolish enough to wake up Lawson for it. Next day then.

When Charlie woke up it was already late morning and one look at the clock told him Lawson was gone. He smelled food and as he managed to move his body into a more upright position, wondering if this was how really old people felt every day, he spotted a plate with toasts and tea on the bedside table, along with a few pills. He had to smile. Jean was just wonderful.

Breakfast had to wait though. First thing was the bathroom. Groaning and taking his sweet time, Charlie limped his way to the bathroom, using the wall for occasional support. He wondered how long it would take to get his energy back. When he asked the Doc last night the man just shrugged, said something about the blood loss and infection taking a toll and to focus on resting. Charlie rolled his eyes at the memory. Blake was the right one to talk about resting, really. The man couldn't be kept down with his own stab wound. Charlie still remembered trying to keep him out of the investigation so early after his attack, to no avail. He could've sworn that if not for Jean putting down her foot Blake would've driven himself into an early grave quite some time ago.

The look in the bathroom mirror made Charlie pause. He barely recognized himself. The stubble was turning into a beard and he didn't even want to look at the state his hair was in. The bruises had also managed to turn into a garish colour, giving him a proper look of a derelict.

He tried to splash water on his hair and face, but it was harder to do one handed than it seemed. After several unsuccessful splashes, his shirt was almost as drenched as his hair. The thought of trying to shave when even just standing up for a few minutes was making him tired felt like an utter fiction or a bloodbath in waiting. Cursing, Charlie had to make due with a quick wash and an awkward combing of his hair. While he didn't want to entertain any guests, he felt bad for Jean and the others having to deal with him in such a poor state.

He did apologize for that once Jean came to his room after he finished breakfast.

"Nonsense! Trust me, I've seen worse. And you look better than you did when Lucien brought you home, so that's something."

Charlie felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He didn't really want to think about the last few days or how much had the others done for him since. Charlie never liked to be dependent on someone for any reason. From early childhood he was taught to be there for others, to protect and take care of his brothers, to help out his mother. The thought of someone else having to do things for him felt wrong. But there was hardly anything he could do about it now and he knew it was a bit irrational of him to expect such. Though when Jean offered to help him shave, Charlie still balked.

"Ah no, thank you. I think... I might try it later on... myself."

Jean's eyebrows quirked and her lips twitched.

"Are you sure you want to risk more blood loss?"

Charlie frowned, disgruntled.

"I can shave myself," he grumbled.

"Just a question then. Remind me, which hand you use to hold the blade?" Jean asked, head turned slightly but he still caught the smile.

Charlie sighed.

"Left."

"So... do you prefer to add a few more cuts to those bruises? Or let me help you out?"

"Maybe I can grow a beard," Charlie mused.

Jean scoffed.

"I'm not saying you can't pull it off, but..."

"But what?"

"It would make you look older than your years, Charlie," she said softly.

It didn't take much convincing after that. One more bathroom break and a glance at the mirror which gave him a slight startle, and Charlie promptly agreed to the offered help.

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting on his bed, right hand running over the smoothly shaven skin. It did feel great and even though he saw Jean cringe as the beard was gone and she got a full look at his face, Charlie thought it couldn't be that horrible.

"Well, nothing a bit of sun, plenty of sleep and a good meal can't fix," Jean muttered as she cleaned up the basin with water and the mess around.

"Thank you," Charlie said with a smile that Jean happily returned.

Short time later, Jean excused herself for a book club meeting. Of course she first made sure Charlie had everything he could need.

"I can stay home if you don't feel well though," she said a bit uncertain. Charlie shook his head, feeling a rush of affection towards the woman mixing with slight irritation at being the cause of worry.

"No, that's alright. I'll just... read and sleep I think," he said with a reassuring smile. Jean cast him an assessing look and Charlie made sure his smile didn't falter. Finally, she seemed to find all to her satisfaction.

"Alright then. If you need anything, Lucien is in the surgery. He is expecting one more patient but then the house should be clear," she said, knowing that right now they needed to keep Charlie's whereabouts on the lowdown as much as possible.

Charlie nodded, understanding.

"Go... I'll be fine," he said and Jean finally relented.

Charlie knew he technically wasn't alone, what with Blake being downstairs. The house still felt empty without Jean's presence. He tried to fall back to sleep, hoping that maybe next time he woke up his body would feel more normal. But his head was clear for the first time in several days... maybe even weeks. So despite his attempts at sleep, his mind was occupied by everything that happened so far.

He wondered how Caleb was doing... where the hell were Kenneth and Ben. He supposed those were questions he might ask Lawson, but he wasn't sure the man was privy to all the information at this point. And didn't he promise to call Johnson after all? He had a hazy memory of giving Lawson the man's number but he didn't know how that turned out. Thinking of calls made Charlie realize that there was one person he should have contacted much sooner. Cringing, Charlie completely abandoned the thought of sleep. His stomach was now churning uncomfortably with the thought of his mother being left in the dark, worrying.

Maybe he should have waited for Lawson to return home and find out what was the situation, but the longer he thought about his mother worrying, the less patience he had. And to be fair, it wasn't just for his mother's sake. Charlie missed hearing her voice and he wanted to make sure she and his brothers were indeed alright.

Decision made, Charlie made his way across the room, then out into the hall. He took a bit of a longer walk and stopped to lean against the staircase landing. He could hear distant voices downstairs, which meant Blake's patient had arrived.

Just as well, Charlie thought. He should have some time before Blake would come up to check on him.

Feeling a bit like a naughty kid, even though he had all the reason to be there, Charlie shuffled towards the phone in the hall. He bit at his lip, considering. He really didn't want Blake's patient to hear him talking and he knew that a call to his mom might take some time. He measured the length of the phone cable and figured it might be long enough to reach Jean's old room.

Since Jean and Blake got married, the room served partly as a guest room or a sewing room. Charlie wasn't really sure. It still bore a lot of Jean's touch and he felt as if he was breaching her privacy when he stepped inside, but there was no other choice really. So he pulled the phone cord along and settled down on the floor, back leaning against the wall, while he pushed the door closed.

The phone in his lap, Charlie took a moment to gather his thoughts. He was sure his mom would be asking plenty of questions he wouldn't be able to answer yet. Maybe he should just leave the call for another day?

No, Charlie decided. His mom deserved better. He had already scared her enough. With a sigh, and before he could change his mind, he dialled the number.

The call went much smoother than he imagined.

One thing could be said for Shirley Davis. She was a strong woman.

As soon as she heard his voice and got reassured that he was indeed alive, she notably calmed down. When she started asking about details, Charlie apologized and told her he can't speak about it yet.

She understood and for a moment, Charlie was speechless.

Until she sighed.

"Your father was a cop, Charlie. I know how it goes. As long as you are safe... I can live without knowing the details," she said and Charlie wished he could hug her through the phone.

"You are safe, right?" she asked when he didn't reply right away.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm safe mom," Charlie said, believing it for the first time since this whole thing started.

"Good. I hope someone is here to 'have your back' as your father would say."

"I'm fine mom, don't worry."

"I can't not worry, Charlie," she huffed. "You sound tired and I still don't know when I will be able to see you."

"Soon. I promise, mom. As soon as the situation calms down... I'll stop by, alright?"

She sighed but there was hardly anything she could do about the situation.

"I promise," Charlie added.

"I'll take your word for it then. Just take care Charlie, please."

"I will." Charlie thought it might be a good time to cut the call short, but then there was one more thing he needed to mention. "Uh mom?"

"Yes dear?"

"Could you... not mention that I called to anyone?"

There was a moment of silence and Charlie cringed, knowing well that his request would just reignite his mother's worry.

"I won't. But... a man called two days ago asking about you. I told Chief Superintendent Lawson about him and no one else called afterwards, but... he really seemed to want to find you," she said slowly with a hint of warning.

"I know. He's... he's a cop. He shouldn't bother you anymore though. If he does, just... call Lawson again, alright? He will take care of it."

"Alright, I will do."

"And mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful please. Tell the boys... tell them not to talk to any strangers asking about me, alright?"

"Should I worry Charlie?" Shirley asked, serious. It was one thing for her to be bothered by cops, it was something else that her children might be in danger.

Charlie grimaced. He wasn't sure what to tell her. In the ideal world, no one would be able to figure out his true identity until the trial and his family should be safe. But Charlie knew this wasn't an ideal world.

"I'm sorry mom. I didn't mean to endanger any of you. And most likely, no one will appear. But... if you notice anything strange or the boys... just... call Lawson."

His mother was silent for a bit longer, obviously trying to stomach what was said. In the end, she just sighed wearily.

"I will tell the boys and Bernie. But I better hear a good explanation from you... in person."

"Yes madam," Charlie said, his lips twitching in a smile. He was hoping it would really be only a matter of days or weeks at most before he could risk a visit home. With that on mind, he bid his farewell and ended the call.

For a few minutes he sat there, head leant against the wall. He wondered if he should try to move or just stay where he was. The phone call drained what little energy he had and the nap he was supposed to be taking sounded more and more enticing. He still had one more call to make however.

With a sigh, he once again picked up the phone and started dialling a number. It wasn't until several rings that he realized he chose the wrong one. It was early afternoon, a week day. There was no way Johnson was home. He would have to call his work number.

Grimacing, Charlie pondered if it was a smart move, trying to contact Johnson at the police station. On the other hand, what could go wrong really? If someone else picked up the phone, Charlie could just hang up.

"Sergeant Johnson," came the weary sounding voice after the third ring.

"Hey Gary," Charlie said, feeling almost relieved. He wasn't sure when he would've gotten a chance to try again.

There was a pause on the other end, then sound of rustling and movement. A slam of the door.

"Charlie?" Johnson's voice held a hint of disbelief. "Is that you?"

"Yeah."

"Man, I thought you was dead or something!" Johnson said, then let out a sigh of relief. "You told me you would call right away and then I didn't hear from you for three days!"

Charlie blinked. Had it really been three days?"

"Uh, sorry. I wasn't... I couldn't really call," he said with a sigh, then frowned. "Didn't... didn't you get a call? From a ... friend of mine?" he didn't think Lawson would forget to call after how adamant he was about getting Johnson's number, but frankly, Charlie was so confused about the last few days that he could've just as well imagined that.

"No, he did. Well... I didn't know who he was because he didn't introduce himself," Johnson sounded exasperated about that and Charlie bit down a chuckle. "He sounded quite bossy... and pissed," Johnson admitted.

Charlie laughed.

"Yeah... I bet he did." Bossy and pissed was just the right description. "Didn't he tell you I was fine?"

"He told me you were alive, not thanks to me," Johnson grumbled. "Then he ripped me a new one. Say... do I have to worry about my hide?"

Charlie bit at his lip.

"Not from him. Not sure how things are going at your end though," he added, his voice sobering up.

Johnson sighed.

"Well, that makes two of us," he admitted and it was clear that something was wrong. Still, the man found the time to ask about Charlie. "You back on your feet?"

"Mostly," Charlie said a bit hesitantly. "Getting there," he added.

"Just... keep safe, alright?" Johnson said and something in his tone sent a shiver of warning down Charlie's spine. This wasn't just friendly concern.

"What's wrong?" Charlie cut straight to the chase. His body was getting stiff and the position he was in was getting uncomfortable. He could also hear movement downstairs, which meant Blake would most likely be up and checking in on him soon.

Johnson cleared his throat, then spoke, his voice much quieter than before, as if he was worried about being overheard.

"Some... evidence went missing."

Charlie frowned.

"Missing?"

"Yeah. The drugs... they went missing from the evidence locker. No one is talking either and all three families lawyered up. We are still keeping Richard and Douglas in the cells, but..." Johnson wavered. "I'm afraid what we have left won't be enough to keep them locked up longer than the start of the trial. If we don't catch Kenneth and Ben and make them talk..."

"All you have is me... and Caleb," Charlie said as the realization set in and made his blood turn into ice.

"Exactly," Johnson said and it was apparent the idea made him just as worried as Charlie. If the whole case now stood only on their witness statement... all the more reason for some people to try and silence them. Charlie felt dread fill his stomach.

"Caleb... is he alright?" His hand squeezed the phone so hard his fingers went numb.

"Yeah. He's safe... after the drugs went missing... I made sure he was moved to a more secure location. Only two people other than me know where he is... and I am sure they won't say anything."

Charlie wanted to feel relieved, but he couldn't. So many things had gone wrong in this case and so many people were crooked. Damn, the whole town was a cesspool where Charlie was concerned.

"Are you sure?"

"I swear on my life. He's safe. Besides... everyone thinks he ran away."

Charlie nodded half mindedly.

"What about me?"

Johnson fell silent and Charlie's eyes narrowed.

"Gary?"

"Sorry, Charlie. I... we managed to convince the hospital staff that you had ran away, but... I think there's still a snitch at the station. Someone let out a word that we... weren't really trying to catch you."

"What does that mean?"

Charlie had a feeling he knew, but he still needed to hear.

"They know you're a cop."

Charlie swallowed. His head thudded dully against the wall, the pain muted by the whirling thoughts.

"Anything else?" he asked wearily.

"No, I don't think so. Look, I'm pretty sure they won't manage to find you, but..."

"There's a chance," Charlie finished.

"I'm afraid so," Johnson said and the regret was clear in his voice. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I don't know who let it out..."

Charlie shook his head. Assigning blame wasn't his style, not in a situation such as this.

"We should've expected that," he said. "It was hardly a masterful escape."

"Still."

"That nurse..."

"The one that tried to kill you?"

Charlie paused.

"Did she?"

Another sigh and Charlie could just imagine Johnson running a hand over his hair trying to relieve some of the stress.

"Yeah, actually she did."

Charlie thought it shouldn't have surprised him. But it did. All this time... he almost managed to convince himself that it was just his imagination. That the poor nurse got confused, maybe mixed up the rooms and then fled out of embarrassment. He didn't think she actually intended to kill him, but... obviously, he was wrong. The thought made his stomach turn and he had to swallow down a few times, begging his stomach to calm down.

"How... how do you know?"

"We tested the syringe. It had morphine in it."

"She... she said it was a painkiller," Charlie said with some doubt.

"Yeah well... the amount of it would have killed all the pain for sure," Johnson said sarcastically. "Forever."

Charlie gulped.

"Did she say who... who sent her?"

Johnson sighed.

"No. Despite being locked up in the cell and being interrogated three times, she is still insisting it was her own mistake. Seeing as you fled the scene and no actual harm happened... we will have to let her go soon if she doesn't tell us the truth."

"What is the truth?"

"I talked to several of the other nurses. It seems she was... very close to Dr. Kendrick. I'd say that one call he made wasn't to his lawyer but to her after all."

Charlie gritted his teeth. Of course. How the bastard without an ounce of empathy managed to get a girl so infatuated that she would kill for him was beyond Charlie's comprehension, but here they were.

"So... _everyone_ is being let out? Free as birds?" Frustration was clearly seeping through his voice.

"Not everyone. Listen Charlie, I know this feels like a loss, but... we got Richard and Douglas off the police force. Several rich folks were fined and even though they won't go to jail, the press dragged them good. And we can still win at the trial. All we need is for you and Caleb to stay safe until then."

"Piece of cake," Charlie muttered.

"Just... stay somewhere safe, Charlie. Make sure you have someone covering your back, alright?"

Charlie nodded, even though Johnson couldn't see him.

"Yeah," he said finally. "I think I have that covered," he added and some of the fear dissipated. After all, he _did_ have people around whom he could trust.

"Good. I have to end this call, someone is coming. Take care and... give me a call in few, will you?"

"Yeah," Charlie promised. "Take care as well."

The call ended and Charlie numbly put down the cradle. He was hoping this call would help him relax some of the tension, but the opposite happened. Charlie's stomach was a twist of nerves.

Evidence went missing and there was a leak. They knew he was a cop and Kenneth was still at large.

If Charlie knew one thing it was that Kenneth was a vengeful bastard. He wouldn't stop until he got his revenge. Charlie hoped the man had decided to flee and save his life and freedom, but the fact things weren't going smooth in Leighton gave Charlie reason to doubt that.

And what if they somehow managed to figure out who he really was? Was his mother in danger? Would they go after his family or would they come after him? Was he bringing danger into the Blake household?

"What're you doing here?"

Charlie jerked, startled. Blake was standing in the door, giving him a look of confusion and concern.

"I...ah... I needed to make a call," Charlie said, his voice sounding unsure even to his own ears. The concern on Blake's face deepened and the man leaned down, putting his palm against Charlie's forehead.

"I'm fine," Charlie grumbled, pulling back.

"Hardly... though you're not spiking a fever at least." Blake's eyes gave him a quick check, pausing at the phone on his lap.

"Bad news?"

Charlie gave a half shrug, then a nod.

Blake sighed.

"Alright. Why don't we get you back to your room? Then we can talk about it and figure out what to do. How does that sound?" Blake said, offering his hand to Charlie.

Charlie looked at it, then slowly reached up, accepting the hand.

"Like a plan," he said then grunted as Blake helped him up to his feet. His legs had fallen asleep and he hissed, taking a moment to get rid of the pins and needles. Blake stood there patiently, offering an arm of support.

"Don't worry. Whatever is the trouble... I'm sure we can fix it."

Charlie looked at him, grimacing as his body protested the previous position. Seeing the sincere look on Blake's face though pushed back all the discomfort and warmth spread through his insides. He wasn't alone now. There were people who he could trust, people who had his back after all. He just hoped their dedication won't cause them harm. He would never forgive himself if one of them got hurt because he tried to prove himself worthy of the job.

* * *

A car pulled up in front of the house just as Jean put the meat into the fridge to let it soak in the spices and sauce. It was shortly past lunch, which she ate with Charlie. He was getting up and about more and more, though he still tired easily. She was just happy he pulled through the first two days and that the fever was mostly gone. Now she was getting ready for the moment when he felt well enough to start getting bored. From previous experience she knew it would be hard to keep him down.

She was thinking how she could possibly entertain him in the near future, what with his dominant hand being out of commission. There wasn't much that came to mind.

The sound of the engine made Jean look up at the clock. It was too early for either Matthew or Lucien to return and she was sure there was no patient scheduled for the rest of the day. Frowning, she made her way to the window, trying to spot the visitor.

The car was unfamiliar. She saw an equally unfamiliar man stepping out of it. His eyes circled the yard, then he headed towards the door.

Jean felt a shiver of apprehension.

Both Blake and Matthew had warned her about strangers bumping into her or asking questions, but she didn't think one would appear right at their doorstep. There was a rapt knock and Jean swiftly made her way towards the door. She shot a look towards the stairs, hoping Charlie was indeed asleep upstairs and won't come down exploring.

"Coming," she called out when the knocking resumed, inpatient. She already didn't like the man.

Jean opened the door and while usually she would be all smiles, now there was a wary look on her face. She also didn't open the door wide, instead stood there, ready to slam it shut if needed.

The man had a straight posture, so reminiscent of an army man, even though the rest of his appearance was definitely that of a civilian. He had a determined look on his face. Jean knew right away he spelled trouble.

"Can I help you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and polite, in case this was just some door to door salesman. Albeit the lack of a briefcase made her doubt that.

The man gave her an assessing look.

"I'm detective O'Leary. From Sydney."

Jean raised a brow.

"You're a long way from home, detective O'Leary," she said trying to keep her voice from showing her apprehension.

"I have an important business here," he said with a nod. "May I come in?"

Jean thought about it.

"May I first inquire about the purpose of said business?"

O'Leary's eyes narrowed.

"It's police business. Now do I need to show you my badge? This is a rather delicate matter and I'd prefer to discuss it inside."

Jean wanted to snap back where he could show that badge, knowing well enough this was the man who made Charlie take the job. But she couldn't very well do that without giving up the fact she knew what had happened. So she gave a curt nod and stepped back from the door, her mind working frantically on the options and hoping against all hopes that Charlie was fast asleep.

O'Leary pushed past her and headed straight to the living room. She gritted her teeth at the audacity but found herself following him without a word.

"What can I help you with then, detective? If you came after Chief Superintendent Lawson, I'm afraid he's still at the station, working."

O'Leary shook his head.

"No, thank you. I think I had enough interaction with the superintendent to last me a year," O'Leary grumbled. "I need to speak to Davis."

Jean blinked, her heart skipping a beat, but her face staying poker still.

"I'm sorry, but Charlie isn't here."

"Oh, really?" O'Leary raised a brow, his tone clearly disbelieving. "May I ask where is sergeant Davis?"

"I haven't the slightest clue," Jean said, giving a half convincing shrug. "Last I heard he was on some... special training?" she said, looking O'Leary straight in the eyes. The man's lips twitched.

"Is that so," he grumbled. "Well... you won't mind me looking around the house then? Just to make sure?"

Jean's eyes narrowed, arms crossing over her chest.

"Actually, I do mind. You have no right to search this house without a warrant-"

"I hardly need a warrant for a little walk," O'Leary said and already headed out of the living room, pushing past Jean.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, voice raised as she caught up to him in the hall. O'Leary didn't say anything, he just looked around, then headed for the closest door, which happened to be Lawson's room. He opened the door and peeked in.

"Hey, stop that! I want you to leave, right now!" Jean grabbed his arm and pulled at it, trying to stop him.

He totally ignored her, merely shrugging her off and after quick inspection of the room he headed down the hall, opening a few more doors. Jean was actually considering grabbing a vase and smacking it over the intruder's head.

"How dare you come into my house like this?" she hissed at him, yelping as he once again pushed past her. The movement sent her stumbling and she ended up catching her balance against the wall. At least he seemed to pause at that, grimacing.

It was clear to both of them that if he continued, blood will be shed one way or the other.

O'Leary shook his head.

"This is just useless loss of time," he grumbled, then looked up towards the stairs. "Sergeant Davis!" he shouted and Jean jerked.

Damn the man!

Jean was really hoping Charlie wouldn't take the bait.

O'Leary didn't seem inclined to go up the stairs and continue fighting her off, but he was determined not to leave without making sure Charlie indeed wasn't there either. They waited and Jean was giving him an 'I told you so' look, when O'Leary shouted once more.

"Sergeant Davis! If you don't come down this instant, I will be hard pressed to go upstairs. I'm sure you don't want Mrs. Blake here trying to stop me."

Jean glared at him.

"This is absolutely insane, detective. I already told you he's not here!" she said, raising her voice, hoping that Charlie would take the hint and stay still.

Of course that wouldn't be Charlie.

She could hear a door opening, then shuffling steps. It wasn't long before a sleepy-eyed Charlie appeared at the top of the stairs, glaring. He shot a concerned look down towards Jean.

She sighed and gave him a small nod that she was alright.

Charlie's gaze turned to O'Leary and Jean would've sworn... if looks could burn the man would be ash right then and there.

"Detective. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Charlie asked coldly.


	20. The Visitor

Charlie was somewhere in that nice state of half slumber. He might've argued with Jean on taking an afternoon nap, but as soon as his head hit the pillow he let out a pleased moan. Stomach filled with warm soup, his weariness and urge to sleep overpowered even the various aches and pains. He was finally getting to the stage when staying still let him pretend there was nothing wrong with him at all. For a few minutes at least.

Charlie's consciousness was fading away and his body relaxed into the mattress for some much needed rest. Thus it was with great annoyance that he forced his eyes open a bit later.

It took him a second to figure out what woke him up and he was about to close his eyes again, thinking it a fluke, when he heard a familiar voice calling out his name.

Charlie froze, unsure if he wasn't caught in one of his nightmares. But no. He could hear noises from down below and a chill ran down his spine.

Jean was there.

He didn't lose time after that. Getting up was a chore, because the rest of his body still seemed half asleep, but he made it to the door in a record time for his state. Walking towards the stairs was a slower process. The hallway swayed for a second and he had to steady himself on the wall. He used the moment to listen.

He didn't hear anyone talking, but he could hear breathing and shuffling of feet.

There was no other option. No way was he going to play possum and let Jean deal with the man herself.

Vision stilling, he took the few steps towards the banister and looked down.

Jean was there, seemingly unharmed. Charlie shot her a worried and questioning look and she gave a small nod. She was fine. Still, he could see the way she stood, tense and annoyed, arms crossing over her chest. At the bottom of the stairs there was O'Leary.

Charlie felt his insides go cold with anger. How dared the man come into his home and bother Jean of all people? Through gritted teeth, Charlie locked his gaze with O'Leary.

"Detective. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

O'Leary ignored his cold tone, unfazed. That only made Charlie more annoyed.

"We need to talk," the man spoke.

"You don't have to, Charlie. I'm sure... _detective_ O'Leary can return later, when you feel better," Jean said, shooting O'Leary a glare of her own and offering Charlie an out. He appreciated the effort but knew it was useless. Sooner or later he needed to talk to the man anyway and he'd rather have it over with now. The less often he saw O'Leary the better.

"That's alright, Jean. I think I can handle this," he said and headed down the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other wrapped protectively around his midsection. While lying in bed wasn't causing much discomfort, the stairs were still tricky for him.

Jean was still lingering around, as if ready to help him. Charlie was grateful though that she didn't. After all, he had some image to uphold, at least in front of O'Leary. He would rather take a fall down the stairs on his own, with the chance of hitting O'Leary on his way down. Fortunately, or maybe not, he made it without trouble.

"Living room?" Charlie nodded towards the place and waited until O'Leary gave a nod and lead the way. Charlie paused next to Jean.

"You alright?" he asked in a whisper, just to be sure. She sighed.

"Yes, of course. You really don't have to talk to him, Charlie."

"I think it's best I do," Charlie said.

"I'll join you then," Jean stated, her protectiveness putting a small smile on Charlie's face even as he shook his head.

"I'd prefer if you didn't."

"Charlie," she protested but Charlie already shook his head.

"I'll be fine. He's not the danger here. Just... give us few minutes please?"

Jean didn't seem to like it, but she could hardly argue. It was a police business after all. So she nodded.

"I'll go make some tea," she said and based on her tone, Charlie was pretty sure she would stop to make a call first. He didn't mind that at all.

"Thank you," he muttered and followed O'Leary into the living room.

The man had already settled in one of the chairs, the one usually reserved for Blake. Charlie forced back an irritated sigh and sat down on the couch, facing him. Maybe standing would have been a more powerful move, but he didn't think he could stay upright too much longer. His left leg gave a throb of pain and he sank onto the cushion with barely hidden relief.

"Alright. Now that I finally got a handle on you, let's get this over with before the cavalry arrives," O'Leary spoke, clearly aware that Jean was about to call Lawson.

Charlie couldn't but agree with him. He wasn't sure he wanted Lawson arriving before he got an answer to few of his own questions. He imagined that it would be hard to ask the man anything while Lawson was kicking him out of the house. Even though it was a nice thing to imagine.

"What do you want to know?" Charlie asked, preparing himself for a frustrating recount of all that he already told Johnson. He was pretty sure O'Leary had the report on his desk before Charlie even arrived to Ballarat.

"What do you know about Richard Graves' father?"

Charlie blinked. That wasn't a question he ever expected, and it let him know that this interview will be different. This wasn't just O'Leary wanting to hear what happened. This was O'Leary trying to dig. And if that was the case... Charlie had to wonder what was behind it.

"I know he's the factory owner, sponsoring about half the town. What are you looking for O'Leary?"

The man shook his head.

"It was actually his warehouse where the last fight went down. Unfortunately, right now there is not a single thing evidencing he was helping his son. I need to know if you heard something. A mention of his name. Did you see him during either fight?"

"I don't even know how he looks," Charlie admitted. Johnson had shown him some photos and newspaper clippings the first time they met, but that seemed ages ago and Charlie wasn't sure if Richard's father was in any of them.

O'Leary nodded and reached into his coat, pulling out a small booklet. It held several black and white photos and he showed them to Charlie one by one.

"Anyone here familiar?"

Charlie squinted, trying to remember if perhaps he had seen some of the faces, but each time O'Leary changed the photo he had to shake his head. He only stopped on the last one.

"That's Dr. Kendrick," Charlie pointed out and O'Leary nodded.

"Yes. I just wanted a positive identification from you. But no one else familiar?"

"No, sorry. I wasn't really in a position to take in everyone in the crowd and except Kendrick and few guys at the gym no one approached us."

"What about Caleb?"

Charlie paused, shoulders tensing.

"What about him?"

"Do you know where he is?" O'Leary asked and it was clear he was trying to appear nonchalant, as if he knew the boy's location, just wanted to make sure Charlie didn't. Charlie saw through that though.

O'Leary had no clue... which meant Johnson kept his word and moved Caleb somewhere else.

Charlie shook his head.

"He's safe, that's all I know. All I need to know."

O'Leary looked at him and Charlie noted the slight twitch on his face. His own eyes narrowed.

"What is this all about, O'Leary? What are you really doing here?"

There was a moment of silence between them, O'Leary looking almost ready to jump up and leave. Suddenly it was Charlie who wanted answers.

"Tell me. Why did you come all this way?"

"I wanted to make sure you were actually alive," O'Leary admitted.

"You talked to Lawson," Charlie snorted. "I'm pretty sure he told you that already."

O'Leary gave him a strange look and Charlie paused.

"You thought he was lying? Why?"

O'Leary let out a forced breath. It was clear he didn't want to talk, but Charlie wasn't about to let it go now.

"What the hell's going on, detective?" he kept pushing. "Why are you fishing around for more information?"

"Because evidence keeps getting missing!" O'Leary barked, his pretended calmness gone. "We need something more. We need to catch Kenneth Barnes, or his brother and make them talk. Or the parents of those dirty cops stay in business, their influence as strong as ever."

"Then do your damn job and catch Barnes!" Charlie snapped back in annoyance. "Johnson is gathering evidence. Do you really think I can do more from here?"

O'Leary shook his head.

"No. The only way you can contribute now is to stay alive. Which is why I would advise you come with me to a safe house and sit this out until the trial."

Charlie gazed at him for good ten seconds before bursting out in a laugh.

"Are you kidding?" he asked in disbelief.

O'Leary didn't move a brow.

"You really think I would go anywhere with you? Alone?" Charlie felt his own ire rise at the utter ridiculousness of that proposal.

"I've spent two weeks constantly looking over my shoulder, trying not to get killed! Then when I finally counted on a backup to save my ass, _something_ went wrong. Someone sent them the wrong coordinates and they almost didn't arrive in time. I almost got killed again in the hospital, and _you..._ You are asking me to trust you?" the disbelief in Charlie's voice was so strong that O'Leary had to realize what a stupid request that was. Still, Charlie shook his head.

"No way in hell. I'm staying where I can trust the people around me," he said coldly.

"I'm not your enemy here Davis," O'Leary said, his tone low.

"And how should I know that?" Charlie bit back. "It was you who contacted me, who threatened my career if I didn't agree. Why? Why me?"

O'Leary looked pensive, but then he seemed to relent. It was clear he won't get Charlie to come with him so perhaps he hoped that giving him some information might help keep him safe. At least Charlie hoped that was the reason why the man finally spoke.

"I don't have a clue why you, Davis. Frankly, I had five other candidates who were better suited for the job, more experienced."

Charlie's stomach churned at that.

"So this was personal?"

"Someone wanted you to take the case. Someone wanted it strong enough to drop your file and the request on the desk of the Deputy Commissioner in Sydney. I don't know who that was, but... seeing how this all turned out, I'd say someone with a personal grudge against you."

"The Deputy Commissioner... did he mention any names?"

O'Leary shook his head.

"I'm in no position to ask those questions. Neither are you," he warned when he saw Charlie open his mouth.

"I think I do if it's my life being on the stake," he protested.

O'Leary shrugged.

"He will deny everything. You will just lose time and put yourself more at risk if you contact him. If nothing else Davis, trust me on this. You want to keep as far away from Deputy Commissioner Andrews and the people pulling the strings as you can. Hole up. Go to the trial and hope that will be the end of it."

"I don't have any enemies," Charlie protested feebly to which O'Leary merely raised an eyebrow and made a pointed look around the living room.

"You associate with people who keep making powerful enemies every damn day. Do you really think yourself above getting a few of your own?"

Charlie didn't. Or rather, he didn't think he stepped on anyone's toes. All his possible conflicts had been connected to Blake but this was different. It felt more personal. Whatever was the original plan, it involved Charlie being gone from Ballarat, alone and vulnerable. Blake might've been hurt by his unfortunate death, but it was hardly something that would break the man. No... someone wanted a revenge on Charlie himself.

"Whomever is after you... they were keeping an eye on the case. Johnson was sending his reports over to me and I had to resend them to the Deputy Commissioner right away."

"I don't have a clue who might have a grudge against me," he admitted, the fingers of his left hand twitching nervously, sending a throb of pain up his arm.

"It hardly matters right now. I'm just warning you, because it made little sense to me."

Charlie frowned at him.

"Then why were you doing it?"

O'Leary shot him a look as if he was stupid.

"We are cops, Davis. We follow orders."

Charlie grimaced.

"Well, some orders shouldn't be followed," he grumbled.

O'Leary shrugged, then looked at his watch. He reached into his pocket and handed Charlie an envelope.

"Your papers and keys that you left in Sydney."

Charlie took it, startled at the thought he totally forgot about his ID and keys in the first place.

"I better go. Rather not overstay my welcome. I have better things to do than get into fisticuffs with your overprotective boss," he scoffed and stood. Charlie looked at him and was about to get up when O'Leary shook his head.

„I can find my way," he waved him off. „Just watch your back, Davis. Contrary to popular belief, I'd rather this whole mess wasn't a loss of our times."

Without another word, O'Leary gave him a nod and was gone, leaving Charlie sitting thoughtful on the couch. He was still there, a cup of warm tea sitting idly in his hands while Jean sat on the chair previously occupied by O'Leary, watching him with concern, as Lawson arrived.

It was his grumbling and unveiled threats towards one detective O'Leary that let Charlie sink further into the couch, some tension leaving his body. While the warning still rang loud inside his head, he knew for the moment they were all safe.

Charlie wished that feeling of safety had lasted longer than the night. As it was though, his mind kept him awake for most of it. Lawson assured him there was no safer place than Ballarat for him and let out a string of curses at O'Leary's impudence of even offering a safe house. Charlie thought it was sweet how Lawson's eyes went wide for a second, imagining Charlie gone once again, holed up in some unknown place without contact.

Charlie assured him that was not an option. They went over what O'Leary said and Charlie had asked Lawson what he knew about Deputy Commissioner Andrews.

Sadly, there wasn't much. The man's name didn't ring a bell and Charlie was sure he had never met him before nor had any dealings with him. Now true, there was a chance it was his father who angered the man in the past, but Charlie wasn't privy to that.

Lawson assured him though that he was working on it. He needed to make a few more calls, perhaps ask for a favour. It would take time to dig up whatever dirt there was on Andrews... even more time if it wasn't he himself who was after Charlie.

While Lawson and Blake's protective reaction to the news should have relaxed Charlie, it had an opposite effect. As soon as he was back in bed, the house dark and silent, all he could do was worry.

Worry about someone else getting hurt. Someone coming here and threatening Jean... it was enough that O'Leary came to the house and for several minutes Jean was alone with the man. He didn't hurt her, but Charlie saw she was rattled by his presence.

He couldn't even imagine how rattled his mom was a few days back, especially if O'Leary hinted that something might've happened to her son.

It was no surprise at all that when Charlie finally managed to fall into a restless sleep, he was plagued by horrid nightmares about his family being hurt. He woke up early, body covered in cold sweat. The sheets wrapping around his body were damp as well and he had to struggle to get out of their grip.

A glance at the clock showed it was barely past five in the morning.

Too early for anyone else in the house to be awake.

Not too early for a certain person in Melbourne to pick up the phone however.

Charlie gritted his teeth and shuffling his feet, trying not to stumble and not to make any noise, he made it to the phone. Once again he grabbed the device and took it to the nearby empty room, clicking the door closed.

It wasn't ideal, he would have to talk quietly so as not to wake up Jean or Blake.

But he could do that.

Now all he needed was to force his hand to dial the familiar number and hope it was the right person picking up.

It wasn't as easy as it seemed.

For that to happen, Charlie had to swallow all the pride and resentment he felt for the last few years. He had to go against his own instincts and do the unthinkable.

Fingers trembling, Charlie dialled.

He had to do it now, while he knew the man would be the only one up, ready to head out to work. He had to do it now, before the vestiges of the nightmare were washed away by sunlight and he changed his mind.

The phone rang two times and Charlie's courage was bound to vanish on the third. He knew that.

'Pick up, you bastard', he thought while at the same time praying the phone kept ringing and he could just go back to bed, grab a short nap and wake up more clearheaded.

"Who the hell's ringing this early in the morning?" came the gruff voice and Charlie grimaced.

He might've miscalculated. The man sounded half asleep... what was the day anyway?

"Well?" another snapped sound and Charlie cleared his throat.

"Bernie? It's me, Charlie," he said, already regretting his decision.

There was a moment of silence as his step father obviously tried to figure out whether he was asleep or not.

"Charlie." His tone was a bit less snappish now, though there was clear confusion. Maybe a hint of worry.

Charlie was sure it wasn't for his wellbeing. He knew, because there was really no love lost between the two of them, even though Bernie had tried pretending he cared. After all that happened in the last few years though, Charlie finally started pretending as well, at least in front of his mother and brothers. He figured it was easier than alienating his whole family. He left the judgment on whether Bernie deserved such consideration for later. Preferably never.

Right now though he should probably start talking, Charlie realized as he heard rustling from the other end.

"What's going on?" Bernie asked and Charlie couldn't stop the sigh escaping him.

"I need to ask you for a favour," he uttered through gritted teeth and felt his own father must've been rolling in his grave. There was no help for it though. Protecting his family took precedence over all else.

It was evidence that Bernie already knew about something happening that he didn't boast or tell Charlie to go to hell, he didn't owe him anything. Charlie would have understood both of these reactions. Instead, the man simply said: "I'm listening."

Charlie couldn't believe what he was about to say.

"I need you to protect mum and my brothers. For the next few weeks..."

"Protect from whom?" Bernie asked, confused but also much more alert than he sounded a minute ago.

"Cops," Charlie let out with a sigh. "Dirty cops."

There was more silence, then a snort of laughter.

Charlie felt anger welling up inside him.

"This is not a joke!" he snarled into the phone.

"I am sure it is not indeed," Bernie answered, his tone holding none of the amusement. "I just thought it ironic coming from you of all people. Saint Charles... always _Just_ , always believing in the bloody system. And now... you call _me_ of all people... asking for help."

Charlie wanted to smash the phone, but that would wake up the house and it would only give Bernie all the more satisfaction. No, Charlie decided, if he was going to break something it would be his other hand when he punched that dick.

"You know damn well the only reason I am asking you is because you are _there_ ," Charlie hissed, his hand squeezing the phone cradle so hard he was sure he was leaving imprints. "Take them for a vacation, a belated honeymoon, hell I don't care. But if anything happens to them because you want to show me I was wrong-"

"Calm down Charles," Bernie said, breaking through Charlie's rant. "You might think I'm a bastard, but that doesn't mean I will stand by and let _my_ family get hurt, because you managed to get involved in some copper shit."

Charlie wasn't sure if that was supposed to calm him down or raise his hackles even more.

"So what? You going to protect them?"

"Of course!" Bernie answered and the tone clearly said he thought Charlie an idiot. "Ray is due to have a few fights out of town anyway. I'll just bring the kids and Shirley along as well."

Charlie felt relief war with annoyance.

"If anyone starts asking about me..."

"We don't know you. Or they'll get the pleasure of serving as a punching man to some of my trainees."

Charlie rolled his eyes at that.

"Just keep Ray out of that," he said wearily. Bernie snorted.

"He would enjoy that."

"Yeah... not something I want to happen."

"Anything else I should know?" Bernie asked and Charlie could hear his mother's sleepy voice inquiring in the background.

"Not now. Call if anything happens though. And... don't scare mom."

"Of course. Try not to get yourself killed kid."

Charlie swallowed. He wanted to snap back that he wasn't a kid, but he couldn't. This whole call went way different than he expected and Bernie was actually trying to be more civil than Charlie himself. That was saying something.

It was through gritted teeth that Charlie forced himself to say: "Thanks. You too."

He hung up before he could get an answer.


	21. The Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bit of a breather chapter before we get into the final showdown of the fic. I must admit, I wrote this one in the height of the quarantine time and as such I felt a bit more familiar with Charlie's reaction :D Hope everyone is doing alright and thank you all for reading <3

Sleeping was impossible. More and more Charlie found himself tossing and turning at the early morning hours, mind filled with frustration and body aching from too little exercise. It was a week now since he returned to Ballarat. The infection in his leg had fortunately responded well to Doc's treatment and none of his other wounds were serious enough to require more intensive care. Even the stab wound in his stomach was healing up nicely.

It was no wonder really. He had barely done more than take a shower and read. The broken arm effectively kept him from helping out in the kitchen. Not to mention, everyone in the household seemed to be extra protective of him. Which would have been fine, Charlie really didn't mind all the attention. It was nice, he had to admit to himself, even though it felt a bit strange. Especially when even Lawson seemed to take it easy on him and kept himself from bossing him around. Although that might've had more to do with Jean's glare whenever he tried.

For a while, Charlie took in all the care he was getting without question. He didn't feel strong enough to refuse anyway, more often than not shaky from a nightmare or still weary from a low grade fever that refused to leave. The Doc said it was just his body being overworked and needing time to heal.

Charlie accepted that and so he took frequent naps, ate what was put on his plate, read whatever book Blake or Jean dropped off on his table or recommended. He was a model patient, because he simply didn't have the energy to be anything else.

But the week had gone by. His body was slowly getting back to normal and the naps became less and less frequent. And when he did take one, it resulted in a restless night, such as this one.

Too much time to think, his body thrumming with nervous energy, unable to stay still even though the tossing and turning still irritated the fading bruises or healing bones.

Charlie growled and sat up, giving up pretence of sleep. The clock showed it was almost five in the morning.

He longed for a run, his whole body throbbing for some release. He had enough of the self imposed isolation.

So far no one else knew he was back home and if it was up to Lawson, Charlie would most likely be locked up in his room until the trial. Unfortunately, that was scheduled no earlier than in three weeks. Charlie was sure he would go crazy long before that.

He already felt like the walls were closing in on him.

He was never one to sit around and feel useless, but ever since his imprisonment in the basement, Charlie was getting antsy about closed doors and staying inside. The better he felt, the harder it was to make excuses for not going out.

Ten minutes later, Charlie found himself standing outside, in the garden. He didn't even realize how he managed to get dressed and brave the stairs in the darkness of the early morning, all without waking up anyone else, but he did.

Maybe it wasn't the smartest move, leaving without a note, but Charlie figured he could just go for a short walk around the house. Maybe few meters down the path leading to the river. He was sure there wouldn't be anyone to recognize him at this hour. The milkman or the newspaper boy would come from the other side of the house at a later time.

The fresh air on his face felt like magic. It was crisp and smelled of the morning dew and Charlie took a moment just to breathe in lungfuls of it, or at least as much as his ribs allowed without protest.

A small smile pulled at his lips.

This was what he needed. Being able to move, without anyone keeping him under lock. He knew he wasn't really being fair to the Doc or Lawson, after all, they were just trying to keep him safe. But Charlie didn't want to feel like a prisoner in his home anymore.

Slowly, he headed down the path from the house. The darkness was starting to lift. He still couldn't see much so his steps were careful, but he knew this path well. Had been running on it for the last three years.

As the sky was getting lighter, Charlie's steps became quicker. He could feel his leg and side throbbing, but his muscles seemed to work on memory. Soon his body wished to feel the wind against his face and the thrilling rush of endorphins from a good run. His mind went peacefully blank and Charlie felt free.

It didn't last long.

One wrong step sent a jolt of pain up his leg and side. Charlie grunted and came to a sudden halt, his chest heaving, trying to get in enough air.

' _Dumb, Davis, that was dumb,'_ he thought, leaned over, gasping and praying he wouldn't heave. Few more minutes of being hunched over and cursing his eagerness, Charlie finally got the stitch in his side under control.

Swallowing down what seemed to be a rock in his throat, Charlie straightened and brushed the sweat from his forehead.

He looked around and realized that in his zealousness to move he managed to make it over a mile from the house. He was by the river. And the sun was coming up.

Sighing, Charlie turned his back to the path that usually just meant the starting point of his morning run. He might've been eager to leave the house, but he wasn't stupid. There ought to be other people running in the morning shortly and he was in no condition to face any of them. Not to mention, after the first rush of endorphins, his body realised it wasn't really ready for all the action yet. Now it was giving out loud protests and Charlie had to acknowledge the fact he might've overdone it just a bit.

Well, maybe he could still make it back home and somehow manage to sneak back into his room without being spotted. He wasn't sure how anyone would react if they saw him like this... covered in sweat, panting for breath and yes, limping.

Charlie cursed his recklessness and headed back towards the house.

The walk this time took much longer. He had to pause a few times, once even leaning against a tree for stability. He was hoping that he might at least calm down his breathing in case he had to face someone from the house. He might pretend he just went out to get the newspaper. Yes, that might work.

By the time Charlie made it back, he almost wished he had truly only taken the short walk around the house. He was limping and ready to crawl into the bed, but he knew that was hardly an option. Even as he neared the house, he could already smell the sizzling bacon and fresh coffee. Grimacing, Charlie still attempted to enter the house and sneak back into his room, unnoticed.

He couldn't believe his luck when he actually managed.

It was with eyes wide with bewilderment and heart pumping way too fast that he closed the door of his room. He leaned against it and let out a chuckle. Why did he feel as if he had just managed to sneak back home from a party as a sixteen year old?

Shaking his head, Charlie shot a longing look towards his bed. He could snuggle in it and get a short nap. After all, there was nothing to do anyway. Jean would surely understand. He was ready to fall back into his sheets when he caught a whiff of his sweat dampened shirt. Grimacing, Charlie knew he could hardly rest that way. Shower it was then.

Grabbing a pair of fresh clothes, Charlie sneaked out of his room once more.

He painstakingly put a plastic bag around his casted arm then slipped under the shower. The water felt like heaven on his skin and he almost fell asleep right then and there. It was only the knocking on the door and Lawson's growling voice that broke through his relaxed state of mind.

"Davis, I swear if you didn't leave any warm water I'll keep you on desk duty till kingdom comes!"

"Damn!" Charlie cursed and turned off the water that was already turning lukewarm. "Uh, sorry Boss," he shouted.

He got a growl in reply and the sound of retreating footsteps. Well, so much for not pissing off the man.

Five minutes later he headed back downstairs. Since Lawson already knew he was up and hogging the bathroom, returning to bed would be moot. So Charlie decided getting breakfast and then excusing himself might be a better plan.

Unfortunately, his little run wasn't without consequences. His side and leg were sending angry signals to him about overdoing it, so he walked into the kitchen with a limp and an arm pushed protectively close to his side. He tried to look as if nothing was the matter, but when three sets of eyes looked his way it was hard to appear unbothered. Still, he said good morning to all and settled on the chair.

"Is your leg bothering you again?" Blake asked even before Charlie could reach for the glass of juice. He shot him a startled look and a quick shake of a head.

"Uh no, it's fine," Charlie fibbed.

"Uh huh," Blake said, his eyes narrowing as Charlie took a sip of the juice. Damn, but he was thirsty, he realised as he gulped down the whole glass in one go.

It wasn't until he put down the glass that he noted both Blake and Jean eyeing him. Lawson at least seemed to keep his eyes to the newspaper, only shooting Charlie a glare over it and muttering something about tying him to the desk until he learned not to hog the water.

Charlie blushed, then startled as a cool slim hand brushed against his forehead.

"You feel warm again," Jean noted with disdain.

"I took a shower," Charlie conquered quickly. "I'm fine," he said, giving a reassuring smile. He wasn't about to confess to his morning run now when he was in the clear. He would rather pretend he just had a bad night's sleep. That shouldn't be so farfetched after all. Really, no reason for everyone to eye him with suspicion.

Or maybe it was just paranoia caused by tiredness. Charlie wasn't sure. He ate some of the breakfast, fighting off the yawns with growing intensity. He asked about the news in the paper, about Lawson's plans for the day.

"Boss? I was thinking..." Charlie started once he felt he couldn't take one more bite. Lawson raised his eyes from the eggs, half questioning half glaring.

"You were?"

"Matthew!" Jean scoffed while Blake bit down a chuckle at the look of indignation on Lawson's face.

"Cold water, Jean! He doesn't even have to go to work, there's no reason to shower that early."

"That's... actually, that's what I wanted to ask about," Charlie jumped in, cringing at his own timing. Maybe asking while Lawson was pissed off wasn't the best idea, but he could hardly back out now.

"Don't," Lawson warned him, obviously knowing where this was going.

Charlie didn't relent though.

"But Boss... you can't keep me here forever," he said and hoped it didn't come out as a whine.

Lawson's brow furrowed.

"Oh, I definitely can," he said. "And if not forever, at least until the trial."

"Come on... I can't stay home that long."

"It has been barely a week, Charlie," Jean stepped in, soothing. Charlie sighed, glaring at the empty glass.

"Feels like a month already," he grumbled. "I can be on desk duty."

Lawson snorted.

"Sure. Perhaps you also want to advertise your return to Ballarat in The Courier?" he asked, mockingly.

"It's not like no one would notice me for a month. I'm pretty sure one of the Doc's patients already saw me yesterday."

"And whose fault was that?" Lawson growled.

Charlie shrugged.

"Not my fault the kid was scared of needles and ran upstairs," Charlie answered. He had tried to send the boy back down before his mother made it upstairs but didn't manage. While the woman wasn't the most gossipy one, Charlie was pretty sure in few days his presence will be known, whatever they did. "Maybe it will be better to come up with some... story," he noted, motioning towards the fading bruises on his face. "And let me get back to my job."

"Right now I'm not sure you should even be out of bed," Blake stepped in, giving Charlie an assessing look.

Charlie sighed.

"I'm fine, Doc," he argued though it was hard when his mouth almost split in half with a huge yawn. He shook it off, grimacing. "I just didn't get much sleep."

Blake hummed.

"See? Asking for a job yet unable to stay awake through the breakfast," Lawson commented and it was clear that the topic of Charlie's return was closed for the moment.

Charlie wanted to argue, but that would mean confessing his early morning adventure and he wasn't suicidal yet. So he huffed and at least grabbed the now discarded newspaper. He wished to go upstairs to his bed, but decided to wait until the others left. He didn't want to give Lawson another reason to keep him home because he noticed a limp or something.

His plan seemed to be working, at least as far as staying at the table. Lawson had headed off to work and after some deliberation Blake had followed. Jean was cleaning up after the breakfast and Charlie felt guilty for not being much help. He at least tried to hand her some of the empty plates but Jean gave him an assessing look and sent him away.

"Go, rest. I can see your eyes are half closed already."

Charlie muttered he was fine, but she waved him off.

"You can help me later on with folding the laundry if you wish," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. Charlie gave a noncommittal reply. Folding wasn't his favourite past time, but it was still better than doing nothing.

He waited until Jean was turned towards the sink though and walked out of the kitchen. He made it to the stairs when he had to pause, realizing he might've just messed up. Sitting at the breakfast allowed his muscles to stiffen and both his leg and side were protesting the previous abuse.

Grimacing, Charlie grasped at the railing, thinking that he only needed to get up the stairs then he could crash.

Well, he managed at least part of that. Painstakingly slowly, he was almost at the top of the stairs when a cramp hit his calf.

Cursing, Charlie bent over, one hand grabbing at the throbbing limb, the other clutching the railing in dear hope that he won't tumble down.

He dug his fingers into the muscles, trying to push away the pain. Leaning over didn't do him any service though, his balance already precarious. Charlie saw the stairs sway and it was with wide eyes that he managed to push forward then flop unceremoniously on the floor, back leant against the banister.

His breathing was ragged and the leg still cramped. Charlie swore at himself, trying to get control over his body. Only few minutes, that was all he needed. For the cramp in his leg to fade and for the world to settle itself so he could go on and hide in his room.

It shouldn't have been a problem.

He was taking in measured breaths, trying to focus only on that. Maybe that was why he didn't notice a figure at the bottom of the stairs. The figure however did notice him.

Charlie had just managed to calm down, his leg finally relenting and body feeling as if he had finished a marathon. His eyes were closed and he was thinking one more minute, then he would move. Just one minute.

"Charlie! Are you alright?"

Charlie jerked his eyes open, startled. In front of him stood Jean, a look of concern etched deeply onto her face. Charlie noted that she didn't try to touch him either and he felt a pang of regret. She must've learned her lesson from few days ago.

"Uh... yeah?" he answered a bit shakily. Her eyes narrowed, arms crossed over her chest.

Charlie swallowed. He knew that look and it meant only one thing. Trouble.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking all like a scolded child. Blake almost felt sorry for him. Almost was the word though. When Jean called out to him that something was wrong with Charlie, he felt a jab of worry. He rushed up the stairs before he even heard Charlie's feeble attempts at convincing Jean she was overreacting.

Seeing him on the floor, pale and sweaty didn't do much for Blake's own nerves. While he logically knew Charlie should be alright, his injuries were healing, there was always something that could go wrong. Even a simple blood clot. Blake was already reprimanding himself for not checking him out after breakfast, but he didn't want to pester the boy too much and believed his explanation of simply not getting enough sleep.

"What's the matter here?" he asked even as he crouched down next to Charlie, hand automatically reaching to check his pulse. The paleness of Charlie's cheeks was quickly replaced by a splotch of red.

"I'm fine, Doc," Charlie said and it might've been more convincing if Blake didn't feel his pulse running like crazy. So instead of Charlie, he turned to Jean.

"I just found him here, half unconscious," she said, worry and annoyance battling in her voice.

"I was resting my eyes!" Charlie protested and with a grunt attempted to get up.

Blake's hold was enough to keep him down.

"You picked a peculiar place for that," he noted with a slight smile, trying to ease the tension. Charlie let out a sigh.

"I'm alright, Doc, really. I just..." Charlie looked down, grumbling something under his breath. Blake frowned.

"What was that?"

"I overdid it is all," Charlie huffed, still unable to look him in the eye. Blake's brows rose and he shared a confused look with Jean.

"What do you mean?"

"Went for a walk earlier," Charlie admitted, then finally raised his head, giving them a guilty look. Blake wasn't sure if he should laugh out of relief, or scold him for giving them a scare. Jean went for the second option.

"Charlie! What were you thinking?" she started and Charlie winced.

"Sorry?" he tried, while shooting Blake a pleading look.

Blake decided to take pity on the boy.

"Alright. Let's get you up and more comfortable," he said, offering Charlie his arm. Charlie grasped it thankfully and managed to get back up on his feet. He grimaced but once upright, he looked steady enough that Blake felt himself calm down.

Ten minutes later, he was even calmer, though admittedly slightly puzzled. He gave Charlie a quick check-up and noted that the healing wound on his side seemed a bit irritated and the muscles in his leg were sore. Charlie's pulse had slowed down considerably and he seemed more embarrassed than anything at this point. Blake managed to convince Jean that they wouldn't need her help and she left with a huff and a warning glare towards Charlie.

"You better behave, young man. Running around in the woods in the morning," she shook her head in disbelief as she left the room.

Blake wanted to give him the benefit of doubt. He understood how someone young and usually healthy might feel cooped up in the house after several days. There was nothing wrong about a small walk either. He was about to offer that option to Charlie later on today anyway, a bit of exercise and fresh air might've done him good. However, seeing Charlie cringe at Jean's parting words, Blake's own eyes narrowed. Now the irritated wound and sore muscles made more sense.

"Were you actually _running_?" he asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

A pair of blue eyes looked up at him hesitantly, the head giving a nod.

Blake huffed. Maybe he should've just let Jean stay. He was sure she would give Charlie a proper lecture.

"Why would you do something like that? After all we did to get you back on your feet?"

It wasn't meant to be a reprimand, more like a genuine question. Charlie still cringed.

"I just... had to."

Blake's eyebrow rose. Charlie looked at him, eyes filled with emotions that were startlingly familiar to Blake.

"I wasn't planning on running, I think I just got caught up in the moment? I haven't been out on a run for ages now. And the last three weeks were just... rooms and places with locks. I felt trapped I suppose," Charlie went off, trying to explain. "Being outside felt-" Charlie paused, unsure how to finish.

"Freeing?" Blake spoke and Charlie blinked at him, surprised.

"Yeah," he muttered.

"I understand that," Blake sighed. "I've been locked up in places too. It... has a way of getting into your head."

Charlie frowned.

"This was nothing like what you went through, Doc," Charlie said and Blake understood he didn't mean it in a way to diminish Blake's experience, rather his own.

"It doesn't matter how long or under what circumstances, Charlie. Captivity always leaves a mark."

Charlie bit at his lip, fingers clapping nervously against the mattress.

"It's alright. It will pass," Blake said, putting one hand on top of Charlie's to still the restless fingers.

Charlie looked up at Blake, hopeful.

"Soon?"

Blake shrugged.

"Maybe. However long it takes, you can handle it."

Charlie sighed, back to his sullen mood.

"I can't stay hiding in the house for much longer, Doc. I will go crazy."

"Few more days, hm? I have no problem with you going for walks-" Blake raised his finger. " _Walks_. No bloody running. Then we can see if you will be up for some light duty."

Charlie's eyes brightened.

"Thanks Doc," he said and Blake rolled his eyes.

"Now you only need to follow the doctor's orders. Shouldn't be that hard, right?" he asked, an eyebrow raised in question.

"No, it shouldn't," Charlie answered with a twitch of his lips.

Blake knew right then that it wouldn't be easy either.


	22. Back to work

Contrary to popular belief, Bill Hobart was no fool. He had known for some time now that there was something wrong. When his boss, Matthew Lawson came to work one sunny morning, practically thrumming with angry tension, Bill thought it was just one of those days. Days when a certain police surgeon might've overstepped his boundaries.

As the day passed though, without the typical swearing under his breath or even mentioning Blake's name, Bill started to suspect that it wasn't the dear doctor who caused trouble this time. Such pity.

While Bill had gotten used to the man in the last few years, occasionally even feeling a hint of respect (though he would never admit it loudly, God save his reputation), he did enjoy the moments when Blake managed to piss off Lawson. The showdowns were usually quite fun to watch... if one managed to get out of the way in time and escape Lawson's wrath afterwards.

This was different.

Bill caught Lawson calling the house twice during the day, his voice hushed and replies short. There was a look of concern on his face which seemed out of place. When Bill asked if everything was alright, Lawson shot him a glare and a nod and sent him away.

Bill stopped asking.

He kept watch however.

He noted Lawson locking himself up in the office that had been previously used by Munro and knew it was so he could make some private calls without being overheard. If Bill had wanted to, he could have leaned against the door and listened, but he wasn't as concerned yet. This might've been a personal matter and he was sure that if things were dire, Lawson would sooner or later tell him. If not, well. Bill wasn't stupid and he could put things together.

A day had passed, then two. Lawson had calmed down some, but there were still secret calls and worried looks. He was occasionally snappish and Bill was starting to wish that Davis would stop frolicking around in Sydney and return home, so that he could take the brunt of the annoyance. Somehow, Davis always managed to get Lawson's attention to himself, occasionally even calm the man's ire.

It were those thoughts that made Bill realize something. He haven't heard from Davis for over two weeks. And wasn't the man supposed to have returned by now?

Hobart didn't much care for the sergeant, and if anyone would have tried to accuse him of missing the man they would have to pick up their jaw from the floor. But with Lawson being on the edge and the only person who used to calm him down gone, Bill was starting to miss the guy.

Then he realized that Blake stopped bugging Lawson at the station. While usually the man tended to hang around the station and be a bother during the times when there was no case to solve, right now he was suspiciously missing. Well, not missing per say. Bill had spotted Blake in town on occasion and knew he was taking patients. But he was absent from the station.

Putting these three things together, Bill become suspicious.

"Say Boss, when is Davis due back from his little training vacation?" Bill had asked one day, after Lawson had snapped at one of the younger constables for bringing him the wrong report.

Lawson didn't even look up at Bill though. He kept glaring at the reports in front of him, riffling for the right one.

"Shortly. What, do you miss him?"

Bill snorted.

"Hardly. But it would be nice if someone else took up the grunt job for once," he commented. Lawson shot him a glare, then nodded towards the desk.

"It's all yours if you are offering," he said and Bill snorted.

"Thanks, but I have a couple of drunks to kick out of the cells."

That was over a week ago.

Bill kept occasionally pestering Lawson about the return of their wayward sergeant, until one day Lawson gruffly answered:

"Tomorrow. Now stop bugging me and go do something useful. Make a welcome banner for Charlie for all I care, seeing as you were so impatient about his return."

Bill just rolled his eyes and went on his way, shooting a death glare at one of the constables who dared to chuckle.

Blasted Davis. He was a pain in the ass even if he wasn't there.

Well, maybe he could give him a nice welcome. Bill grinned and spent the rest of the day imagining what crappy job he might pin off on the man. Overall, he was just happy that Davis was back and that there would be someone else soothing Lawson's ire. The man still didn't seem to come out of his funk.

Bill's happiness (albeit well hidden) about Charlie's return lasted only up until the next morning.

He arrived at work early and was preparing himself a cup of coffee when the door opened and in walked Lawson, followed by his trusted sergeant. Bill already had a scathing comment on his tongue when he froze.

Charlie had turned his way and gave him a smile, obviously happy to be back at work. Bill opened his mouth but the words didn't come.

"What the hell happened to you?" he let out finally after his eyes took in the figure in front of him.

Charlie paused, the smile slipping from his face. He shot an uncertain glance towards Lawson, who just nodded and continued towards his own desk.

"Ah... a bit of an accident."

"Accident? What... were you run down by a bull?"

Bill noted the fading bruises on Charlie's face, the cast on his left arm... the hardly perceptible but still present hunch of shoulders. And was that a limp? Or did he just imagine it?

Charlie's face flushed as he gave a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant about it.

"Ah... a car actually," he said. "Didn't look both ways, you know. The usual."

Bill snorted.

A car. Sure.

He was pretty sure said car had a fist, but he decided not to comment. Well, not more than he would usually. Which meant he kept ribbing Davis the whole day, telling him to be careful with this or that in his scathing tone. For his part Charlie took the ribbing good naturedly. Way better than Lawson, who after one such retort told Bill to shut up and do his job. Even Davis paused at that and he and Bill shared a look.

Lawson was still in a mood it seemed.

And whatever caused said mood must've been connected to Davis, Bill noted. He could see the covert glances Lawson was shooting him, making sure he wasn't overdoing it. Bill also noticed that when Charlie's energy started to wane and he tried to unsuccessfully hide his third yawn, Lawson picked up the phone and made a call. It wasn't even surprising when Blake appeared shortly afterwards.

The look of consternation on Charlie's face when he realized he was being sent home after half a day and even had an escort, made the rest of Bill's day much more bearable.

When the same scenario repeated the next day, Bill was less amused.

It wasn't the fact Davis was apparently working only half days for now. Bill could understand that. He had a feeling that Lawson would've been happy with leaving Davis home altogether until the blasted cast was off his arm. The man didn't look fit for duty yet, but Bill also knew he hated to be cooped up. He wondered how long he had been back home in Ballarat and in what condition he arrived. No one would convince him that the 'car accident' didn't have something to do with Lawson's pissy mood.

However it was on day four, when Charlie looked to be ready to leave and Lawson hung up the phone with some annoyance.

"Blake is busy with patients," he grumbled, then turned to Bill. "Give Davis a ride home, will you?"

"Boss, that's not necessary. I can work the whole shift," Charlie started protesting but Lawson shook his head.

"I don't care. You are on half shifts for the rest of the week."

"I can just use the bus," Charlie tried again, annoyed.

Lawson's eyes narrowed.

"I think we had a deal, didn't we Davis?" he said strongly and Charlie paled a bit. He nodded and gave Bill an apologetic look.

Bill shrugged it off.

"Come on, Davis. I don't have all day to be your cabbie," he commented for the sake of his image. In truth, he welcomed the opportunity. Due to Davis being always escorted home by Blake, he didn't have the chance to talk to him. At the station he was constantly under Lawson's supervision and Bill was starting to suspect it was for a reason. Now he just had to figure out what were the two of them hiding.

A nice ride to the Doc's house was just the opportunity he needed.

Charlie let out a sigh, grabbed his things and followed in Bill's footsteps. Bill noted the limp was mostly gone now, but Charlie's left arm was still pressed close to his torso, as if protecting his side or ribs. Especially when he was getting tired.

Bill didn't comment on that... not until they sat in the car and were on their way.

"So... you had a good time in Sydney?"

Bill spoke up and saw Charlie grimacing minutely.

"Yeah well, you know. It was alright."

"Up till the accident?"

"Uh huh," Charlie nodded. No details provided, only a nervous twitch of his fingers.

"So... did they catch the driver?"

"What?" Charlie looked at him, seemingly confused.

"Of the car... that run you down."

"Oh." Charlie shrugged. "Nah. It... it was just an accident," he muttered and Bill frowned.

"You take me for an idiot?" he asked, not even trying to hide the anger in his voice.

"What? Of course not! What are you talking about?"

Bill rolled his eyes.

"I might not be on Blake's level, but I'm pretty sure some of those bruises on your face came from a fist. And I'd known split knuckles anywhere. So cut the crap and spill. What mess did you get yourself into?"

Charlie was looking at him, wide eyed. Then he let out an awkward chuckle, shaking his head. And damn if Bill didn't feel like smacking him on the head for that.

"You spent too long with Lawson," Charlie said. "It was an accident, that's all."

Bill gritted his teeth. He wanted to call Charlie out on his bullshit, but recognized this wasn't the right moment. Whatever happened, no one wanted to talk about it.

"An accident, huh? So what, Lawson is now worried you will get accidentally run over by another car on your way home?" he still couldn't let it slide.

Charlie sighed.

"He's just being overprotective," he grumbled, face turning towards the window.

"Any reason for it?"

"Maybe he just doesn't want to deal with Doc or Jean if anything goes wrong," he said with a shrug. Bill grunted. The rest of the ride passed mostly in silence. He noted that Charlie was keeping an eye on the road and the rear-view mirror, as if checking they weren't being followed. He seemed relieved when they turned onto the road leading to Blake's house and there was no car behind.

Bill didn't comment, but he took in all of these small details.

Maybe Davis wasn't the right one to press, not right now. The man still looked as if a stronger wind could blow him over, especially as he was getting out of the car, wincing. Bill would have followed him inside, but he saw Jean opening the door and he knew she would make sure Davis wouldn't take a header on the ground. So he just waved at the woman and turned the car.

He might've taken pity on Charlie, but Lawson was fair game at this point. Bill didn't like to be kept in the dark. He could accept when something was out of his purview and didn't concern his person, but this was different. Charlie was... something of a friend. He was a colleague at the least and despite their previous conflicts and disagreements, they came to some degree of respect towards each other. They had each other's back and especially after Ned's unfortunate demise, and their consequent training together, Bill's respect for the man grew.

He felt almost insulted by the fact he wasn't deemed trustworthy enough to learn the truth behind Charlie's accident and current state. But Bill had a tough skin and he wasn't one to give up once he put his mind to something.

Lawson might've wanted to keep him out of the picture, but the moment he made him Charlie's escort home and didn't give him any warning on whatever danger lurked around, he made this personal. Bill's fingers clutched the wheel harder.

He respected Lawson. He admired the man, if for nothing else then his stubbornness and ability to stick around despite all the blunders Blake caused in these last years. But he drew the point at being lied to when there was obviously something wrong.

No, Bill's patience was over. He was ready to confront Lawson and learn just what the hell was going on. He wasn't going to stand around waiting for something to happen. Not after Ned. Whatever threat Davis and Lawson faced, Bill decided he would know.

* * *

Four days until the trial. It was Thursday now. Charlie had one more shift at work, one day to rest and Sunday he would head to Leighton, accompanied by Lawson (and most likely Blake as well though they didn't talk about that yet). Charlie was kind of hoping he might get rid of the blasted cast by then. It was nothing but a nuisance now, one that made his hand itch irritatingly. Charlie couldn't wait for everything to be over and done with. His body had mostly healed up and if not for the threat of Kenneth or someone else connected to the Leighton case popping up and shutting him up before the trial, Charlie would have been able to enjoy several runs already. As it was, he occasionally sneaked out at odd hours but the run never felt so freeing and it quickly lost its appeal.

At least last night's call to Johnson gave him a bit of hope that things were starting to go their way.

"We got him," Johnson said, voice excited.

"Got whom?" Charlie asked confused. He just wanted to know the exact hour of the trial, but Johnson obviously had some news.

"The snitch!"

Charlie waited in silence.

"The little bastard... he worked at the main desk. He was leaking information to Kenneth's father and several other people in the inner circle. But we got him and he already started singing."

"That's great," Charlie noted, his lips turning up in a smile. "So you don't even need me there?" he joked.

"Sorry mate... you still need to come," Johnson said, his voice losing some of the joy. "He can help us with the old guys, but it's still all circumstantial. Without yours and Caleb's testimony..."

"How's Caleb?"

"Better I think. Getting ready."

Charlie wanted to ask more but he was aware that the phone wasn't the best way to do it. And Johnson probably didn't have the answers anyway.

"One more thing," Johnson spoke, bringing Charlie back to the conversation. "Someone fitting Kenneth's description was spotted in Darwin, boarding a fishing boat. We think it was headed up north, possibly Indonesia."

Charlie grimaced.

"Who was the source?"

"Darwin police station. One of their officers was patrolling the shipyard and thought the face was familiar, but he didn't figure out where from until he returned to the station and saw the wanted poster," Johnson said with a frustrated sigh.

"So we can't really be sure?"

"I wouldn't bet my life on it, no," Johnson said.

"Any sign of Ben there?"

"No, but that doesn't mean much. He might've already been on the ship."

"Or somewhere else."

"Yes well, we better take it with a grain of salt I suppose. But hey... only few more days to go and then this will be all over."

"Yes," Charlie couldn't wait for that. He hung up and went to bed with a much better mood.

He kind of wished it had lasted him through the next day.

The morning was still in high spirits. While he had forgone the run, he managed to snatch a bit longer shower than usual and still leave enough hot water for Lawson not to get a scolding.

They drove to work together and the first few hours went as usual. Boring desk job, taking phone calls and statements, answering different queries from the civilians bringing in complaints. Slowly typing up reports. Nothing to write home about.

Then Lawson got a phone call and suddenly there was a case. Unidentified dead body in lake Wendouree.

Charlie just itched to go out and delve into the investigation, but when he stood, Lawson sent him a glare.

"Where do you think you're going Davis?"

Charlie sighed.

"Come on Boss, I feel ready," he said and pretended it wasn't a whine.

Lawson shook his head.

"I don't care. You are sitting this one out, am I understood?"

Charlie felt his face blush with embarrassment. He could feel the eyes of other cops on him. For them, this must've looked like coddling. Or maybe punishment. Hobart smirked at him and followed Lawson out of the office. Charlie surly settled back behind his desk, determined to be at least of some help.

He didn't understand why Lawson kept him on desk duty anyway. He was fine, almost back to his old self. And it wasn't like he would be in danger, surrounded by other people and cops. Who in their sane mind would try to get rid of him standing right next to Lawson after all?

But he could hardly argue the matter. He was still on a bit of thin ice where Lawson was concerned and going against his wishes until the whole affair was settled would be stupid. Especially since he had to not only work for the man but also share accommodations. Right along a doting Jean and well... concerned Blake. He wasn't sure whether to soak up all the care or be irritated by it. He was still battling with those feelings, unable to simply accept it as it was.

"Why the long face?" Rose asked and Charlie looked up to see the journalist standing in front of his desk with her trusty camera and a quirky smile on her face. He felt his own face adjust to reflect the same smile.

They have finally gotten into that comfortable level of friendship that exes sometimes had. And he had to admit, Rose was a welcome distraction during the last few weeks. Ever since she discovered Charlie had returned home, her visits helped with killing some of the time. Of course keeping the truth from her was impossible and she quickly learned about Charlie's adventures. However, a short talk from Lawson ensured that she would keep her mouth and pen shut until everything was done. Until then... Charlie was pretty sure she was doing some enquiries in the background about the Deputy Commissioner, but he could hardly do anything about it. As long as she kept safe and made sure none of her queries could be traced back to Ballarat.

"What are you doing here?" Charlie asked when Rose plopped into the chair in front of him. Her raised eyebrow showed it came out more rude than intended and Charlie gave an apologetic shrug. "I mean... with the dead body, I would expect you to be down there. You know... taking pictures, being sneaky."

Rose rolled her eyes.

"I took some pictures, then I was not so politely kicked out by uncle Matthew," she complained.

"So you came here to try and find out more details?" Charlie noted. She smirked.

"You know me so well."

Charlie raised a brow.

"So... what do you know?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Possibly less than you at this point," Charlie admitted with a sigh. It was her turn to look surprised.

"What did you do?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, affronted.

"Well... you must've done something. Uncle Matthew wouldn't keep you at the desk otherwise."

Charlie felt slight irritation at the accusation.

"I didn't do anything," he grumbled, leaning against his desk. "Though I suppose he doesn't want me getting involved in anything right now."

Rose's brow furrowed, then her face cleared.

"Ah. The trial." She nodded. "I forgot it's next week."

Charlie doubted she could forget something like that but he didn't argue with her.

"Well... seeing as you are here... what can _you_ tell me about the case?" he asked, itching to get some information.

Rose rolled her eyes.

"Nothing useful," she sighed and stood up.

"Hey, going so soon?" Charlie asked, oddly disappointed.

"I must. I'm still working so I need to find another source. Maybe we can chat more tomorrow? Jean invited me for the Friday roast," she said with a grin.

Charlie nodded, unable to hide his annoyance.

"Ah, don't be so grumpy. I'm sure you will hear all about the case at tonight's dinner. I can imagine it will be a lovely conversation at the table," she added with a smile and left. Charlie grimaced. Right. The dinner was just the time when he wanted to hear all about the intricacies of a body decomposition or different types of drowning.

Disgruntled and feeling oddly left out, Charlie headed over the small kitchenette. He would make himself some tea and hopefully get through this day with his pride intact. Or well... less so.

The work day was finally over. It was five o'clock and Charlie was just about ready to go home. After Rose's visit he at least got somehow involved in the investigation of the case, even though it was all paperwork and phone calls. Lawson gracefully included him in an interview of several possible witnesses, though so far no one really knew what the victim died off.

That meant that Blake was busy in the morgue, assisting Alice with the autopsy. Based on previous experience, Charlie knew the man would most likely miss dinner. Lawson on his part was stuck in an impromptu meeting at the courthouse, seeing as the victim worked as the judge's associate. While everything lead to the belief that the man had died of natural causes, his job assignment made things tricky. Everything had to be covered, every step taken properly to ensure the investigation was running smoothly.

So happened that Charlie found himself basically stranded at the police station. Both of his prospective rides were off and he had a choice of either waiting for who knew how long or taking the bus. None of these were a prospect he would be looking forward to. When Lawson was leaving the station, he told Charlie to grab a ride with Hobart. That would have been all well and dandy, but Hobart had also vanished and Charlie wasn't sure he was coming back after work hours, just to pick up his sorry ass.

Feeling a tad rebellious, Charlie decided to take one of the police cars and drive himself home. He wasn't a blasted child after all.

He let the officer manning the evening shift know and left. Driving the car alone, without anyone serving as his innocuous bodyguard, Charlie felt a jolt of excitement. He rolled down the window and took in a deep breath, happy when it didn't bring any discomfort. It was so nice to be alone for a moment... to not feel smothered by everyone. He realized he was being a bit unfair, after all, barely a month ago the only thing he wished for was the safety of his friends and family. Right now though, it all felt a bit too much. Soon though... only few more days and everything could go back to normal.

He could finally stop looking across his shoulders.

With that thought on mind, Charlie's foot tapped harder against the gas pedal. The wind from the rolled down window blew a bit of dust into his face and Charlie squinted. He reached to roll the window back up when he noticed an unfamiliar car pulling out from the side road, quickly speeding up behind him.

Charlie closed the window and shot a look into the rear-view mirror. He stepped down from the gas just a bit, thinking he would let the car pass. He was still under the limit, but if the car kept up the speed it was going at, he would have to stop it. Charlie hoped the driver wasn't blind and noticed he was trailing a police car.

But maybe that was the purpose, Charlie thought, frowning.

The earlier excitement over driving home himself had taken a plunge, instead there was a pit of worry growing in his stomach. The car was drawing closer and there was no indication of it slowing or trying to pass Charlie. What was more, the car didn't seem familiar at all. Charlie couldn't read the plate in the rear-view mirror, though he was sure that if it continued, he would soon have it imprinted in the back of his own car.

As if reading his mind, the driver of the car stepped on the gas. Charlie only saw the red hood approaching, then felt a lurch as the other car hit the back of his own.

Charlie was more surprised by the jolt than angry at this point. He clutched the wheel, trying to keep his car on the road, while uttering several choice curses.

'What the hell's your problem?' he thought as he glanced into the rear-view mirror. He still couldn't see the driver's face, as the sun kept reflecting in the window, though he noticed there was someone else sitting in the passenger seat.

Charlie's stomach turned.

'No bloody way!' he thought as there was another jolt, this one causing the car to swerve a bit. Charlie stepped on the gas, deciding that trying to gain some distance between them was prudent right now. He managed to keep a few meters gap but knew he wouldn't make it too far and he really didn't want to bring this to Blake's doorstep with only Jean at home.

His left hand reached for the radio to call some help, but it was too late. His hand missed the transmitter as the car was rocked by another hit.

Whoever was driving the other car was clearly losing his patience. This time the impact as the two cars connected wasn't where it stopped. It felt as if both cars got stuck together, his own being pushed ahead by the other one. Charlie tried to step on the gas but it was to no avail.

It didn't take much really.

There was a sharp right turn ahead of them. Charlie tried to follow it, but the other car decided that was the best time to stop badgering him from the back and come up to his side.

Charlie finally got a look at his pursuer.

He noticed the wild grin, the crazy eyes.

Then the driver swerved, the side of his car crashing into Charlie's side.

Charlie lost grip on the wheel and before he knew it, the car was off the road.

He spotted the bushes and the overgrown gum tree aiming his way, then there was nothing but darkness.


	23. Showdown

Someone was grabbing his shoulder, fingers squeezing painfully. Charlie tried to pull away, but the grip was strong and he had no idea what was going on. His head was throbbing, there was something wet trickling down his forehead, over his left eye. He wanted to brush it off, the sensation irritating, but he couldn't. Because some asshole was gripping his shoulder, muttering curses and manhandling him.

Charlie forced his eyes open with a groan.

Everything was fuzzy and his left eye was covered in the sticky wetness. He still turned his head to the right, trying to see where he was and just who was jolting him around when all he wanted was to lie down and go to sleep.

"Stop it," he mumbled, though what came out seemed to be no more than a grunt to his own ears.

"Fucking bastard," came the answer and the grip on his shoulder tightened, pulling. Charlie didn't have time to react, he felt his body being pulled out of the seat. For a second he was suspended mid air by the grip before gravity took over and he crashed to the ground.

A gust of air left his lungs as he face planted on the dusty ground. He managed to at least partially soften the landing by grabbing at his attacker. There was no doubt that whomever manhandled him had no good intentions as Charlie heard more curses aimed his way.

"Should've shot ya like a rabid dog," the man whose feet were now within Charlie's eyesight said and spat. Charlie blinked, trying to clear his head enough to figure out what was going on.

He knew he was in deep trouble. He knew this was something he should have anticipated or something he actually prepared for, but for the life of him he couldn't make head and heel of the situation. Having his face down in the dirt and head throbbing wasn't helping any.

The voice above him however was familiar.

"You don't deserve an easy out though," the man said with venom in his voice and Charlie noted movement in his peripheral vision just a second before a foot kicked him in the side.

Charlie grunted, the kick causing him to roll over and double up in pain. Once the stars vanished from his vision though he finally got a look at his assailant.

Kenneth.

As he saw the man move again for another kick, everything came rushing back.

The fights. The trial. The car pushing him off the road.

Charlie braced himself for the hit but that hardly helped.

He was so screwed.

All he could see were Kenneth's legs aiming one kick after other his way, not even caring which body part they hit. Charlie rolled with the hits and even though he managed to block a few, Kenneth was pissed and putting all his strength behind it.

Somewhere in the distance he heard Ben shouting his brother's name in warning.

Charlie could hear the sound of another car in the distance, but Kenneth was so filled with rage that he didn't seem to notice. One more kick sent Charlie rolling several feet away, out of Kenneth's reach.

That gave him a moment of reprieve, just enough to take in the breath he was lacking.

Kenneth stood several feet away, face angry red and panting heavily.

Charlie was reminded of an enraged bull mere seconds before charging. He was expecting that... Kenneth coming at him once again with flailing legs and fists, beating him to a pulp.

What he didn't expect was to see the man trying to regain his composure and reach behind his back to pull out a gun.

Charlie's eyes went wide.

He was dead.

There was no way Kenneth wouldn't pull the bloody trigger.

Based on the sick grin that appeared on Kenneth's face, he was thinking the same.

"Time to put you down, Chuckles," he said and aimed at Charlie's torso.

Charlie couldn't breathe, couldn't move or think.

All he could see was the gun pointed right at him.

He idly wondered whether he would hear the shot, if he would see the bullet coming. If it will hurt.

There was a screeching of tires.

"Kenneth!" Ben shouted.

Kenneth's head jerked, then he involuntarily turned towards his brother, an irritated 'What-' stuck on his lips.

Charlie saw that in slow motion.

He realized this was his only chance. If he didn't move, he was dead.

It was pure adrenaline that allowed him to move so fast, he was sure. And it was only due to Lawson that all he had to do was reach towards his right ankle and pull the small revolver from the ankle holster.

His aim wasn't good. He wasn't best at shooting with his right hand and the dizziness didn't help. The bullet, however small though, hit the target.

Charlie let out a breath as he saw Kenneth's body jerk mid turn, a look of surprise crossing his face as the bullet pierced through his skin, into his shoulder. The gun fell from his hand and he faltered, though surprisingly he still managed to stay standing.

Charlie blinked, then pulled the trigger the second time. This time though the bullet missed Kenneth by few inches and Charlie had to pause. His vision faltered, the figure in front of him becoming blurry for a moment. He heard two different voices.

"Police! Hands up!" one shouted.

"Kenneth! Get in!" shouted the other and Charlie could hear a car pulling up nearby, he could see another blurred figure reaching out and pulling Kenneth inside, spitting and cursing.

Charlie aimed at the blur of the car and fired off three more shots, until he heard his gun coming up empty. The car's door had already slammed shut and with the screech of the wheels it was pulling off.

"Davis!"

Charlie instinctively aimed his empty gun towards the movement.

"Bloody hell! Put that down!" came a shout and Charlie did. He squinted and looked up at the familiar form of his colleague.

"Bill," he said, voice choked as he let out a laugh of disbelief. "Happy to see you."

"I'd say the same but that would be lying," Bill grunted as he squatted down next to Charlie, looking torn between helping him or decking him. "Why the bloody hell did you leave the station?"

Charlie let out an annoyed sound and attempted to get up. At least Bill wasn't too much of a hovering type and didn't try to keep him down. Instead he offered his arm and pulled him up, steadying him when he swayed.

"Let's leave the questions for later... we need to follow them."

Bill seemed like he wanted to protest. But this was Hobart and Charlie knew the man always put priority to catching the bad guy. Right now that was just what Charlie needed.

"Get inside," Hobart said nodding towards the police car he arrived in. Charlie gave a short nod, putting the now empty gun inside his pocket. He wasn't sure leaning over and putting it back into the ankle holster would be a smart move. Right after that he ran a hand over his face, rubbing the wetness off of his eyes. He grimaced at the redness covering his hand now, but at least his vision was a bit better. He didn't have to squint anymore and the world stayed mostly put. Satisfied, he quickly settled down in the passenger seat while Hobart already pulled out in pursuit of Kenneth and Ben.

Charlie was expecting a barrage of questions any second now, but there was only silence. Hobart shot him an annoyed look, let out a gruff sigh and nodded towards the glove compartment.

"There are some paper towels in there if you want," he uttered, glaring at Charlie's face and blood covered hand. Charlie gave him a sheepish look and opened the compartment, pulling out a wad of towels. He didn't look at them too closely, unsure how clean they were. They would have to do, at least for his hands.

The silence of the car didn't last long. Hobart reached for the radio transmitter. Within a minute, the station was informed about the crashed police cruiser, a shootout and two armed suspects fleeing the scene. He requested backup and Lawson to be informed immediately.

Charlie's stomach curled when he realised that Kenneth and Ben would have to pass by the Doc's house. He prayed that they caught up to them sooner or that the men drove by without stopping. Anything but them entering the house with Jean.

Blake would never forgive him if something happened to his wife. Hell, Charlie wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

"Can't you drive faster?" he snapped at Hobart as soon as the man finished the call, though he knew the car was already reaching top speed.

"I wouldn't need to if you weren't an idiot," Hobart snapped back. "You were supposed to wait for escort."

"I'm not bloody five!"

"One wouldn't know," Hobart muttered.

Charlie shot him a glare. He was leaning forward on the seat, trying to catch sight of the red car but so far no luck. Did they lose too much time? Or maybe they went off the road somewhere?

Charlie's head was spinning with everything so it took him a moment to realize something.

"Wait. How... how did you know?"

"Know what?"

"About Kenneth... you must've known," he frowned, sure that Hobart would be pelting him with questions now if it wasn't the case.

Hobart just shot him an irritated look.

"I'm not an idiot, Davis. I knew something was up the moment you waltzed in with that cast on your hand. I confronted the boss and at least he had half the brain to tell me. Unlike _you_."

Charlie had a feeling Hobart was actually... _hurt_ about being left out. He couldn't find the mental capacity to deal with it right now though.

"I didn't have much of a choice," he muttered as an explanation, ignoring the snort of disbelief. There. Did he just spot something red on the horizon?

He squinted, his face almost touching the front window.

"Settle down," Hobart grunted. "Don't want you going through the windshield if I have to stop."

"Look! There!" Charlie pointed ahead, as if Hobart couldn't see for himself.

"Sit back!" Hobart snapped and in the next moment Charlie realized why. He was mistaken. The car could go faster. With a grunt, he fell back on the seat as Hobart stepped on the gas. They were maybe five kilometres from Blake's house.

"We need to stop them, now!" Charlie almost shouted.

Hobart didn't comment, just nodded.

The distance between the two cars was getting smaller. Charlie was almost heartened by the sight. The driver of the car seemed to have trouble keeping it straight on the road, it seemed he was occupied by other things as well. Charlie would like to think Ben was trying to keep Kenneth alive.

The old Charlie would have felt bad for shooting a person. And Charlie knew, if it had been someone innocent, he would be shaking with guilt before the bullet even left the chamber. But Kenneth wasn't innocent and Charlie was aware he only defended himself.

He couldn't care less whether Kenneth survived or not... except for the case. They needed him alive for that. Even the case could go and screw itself however if it meant endangering Jean.

"Bill!" Charlie said and his tone held a hint of pleading as he knew they were getting closer to Blake's house.

"I know," Hobart replied, teeth clenched as he pushed the car to the limit. Finally, they were close. Close enough to maybe open fire at the car.

Hobart reached for his gun, and Charlie didn't even ask why he had it on him. He suspected Lawson gave Hobart the clearance just as he gave Charlie the small revolver he used earlier for protection.

"Hold the wheel!" Hobart said, giving Charlie only a second to react and clutch the wheel, cursing as he tried to keep the car on the road. "Damn it Davis, keep it straight!" Hobart shouted even as he rolled down the window and leaned out, aiming.

He fired off several shots.

Charlie could see at least two hitting the car, though they hardly did much damage. The next one however shattered the back window and the car in front of them swerved wildly. Charlie bit down the urge to yell in satisfaction.

The car in front of them was anything but stable.

"Hold on!" Hobart shouted a warning. He settled back behind the wheel and used the moment to his advantage. He pushed on the gas pedal with such force Charlie felt the engine give an angry rumble. They were now pulling up to Kenneth's car. Hobart jerked the wheel and rammed the front of his car into the right back side of the red car, much like it had done earlier to Charlie. The car's wheels screeched and it veered wildly off to the left. Charlie caught sight of a wide eyed Ben trying to control the wheel, while keeping one hand protectively in front of his brother, stopping him from falling over.

It was of no use.

In that one glance Charlie saw the crimson splash on the front window, the strange shape of Kenneth's skull...

Charlie swallowed down the sudden nausea.

He watched as the car went off the road, onto the empty field. It drove for about twenty more seconds at high speed, jumping over some bushes when its speed begin to decline. It didn't stop, not right away. But it was clear Ben had simply lifted his foot from the gas pedal, then slowly pressed on the breaks.

"What the hell?" Hobart asked, following the strange trajectory of the car.

"He's dead," Charlie said tonelessly. "Kenneth. His head is blown off."

Hobart didn't say a word as he pulled up next to the red car that had stopped in the middle of nothing. "Stay put," Hobart commanded as he got out, gun ready even though Charlie knew he had only one bullet left in the chamber.

He stayed put. Not because Hobart told him so. He stayed sitting because he didn't really want to see the inside of the car. The previous glance he got was enough. He didn't need to see the brain matter and skull fragments covering the interior.

Hobart obviously got to the same conclusion. He was pointing his gun at the driver's seat, but even Charlie could see the look of disgust on his face.

"Hands up!" Hobart shouted at Ben, but Charlie could see he wasn't moving. He must've been paralysed by the situation. Or perhaps he was hit as well? Charlie wasn't sure. He hoped not. Whatever happened, he never felt ill will towards Ben. The guy was trying to be half decent to him. They shared a meal for hell's sake. Charlie was sure he would've been long dead if not for Ben. Kenneth would have found a reason to get rid of him in any case.

Charlie hoped Ben won't do anything stupid. He didn't want Hobart to shoot him after all.

It took a long moment for Ben to react. Hobart kept shouting commands at him, he even opened the car door. Ben just sat there, his head turned to where his brother's body was now slumped down. Charlie swallowed.

Hobart had reached his limit. He cursed and not waiting for a response, reached inside. Not unlike Kenneth had done before, Hobart pulled Ben out of the car, pushing him to the ground.

There was no need really. The moment Ben lost sight of his brother, he broke down, heaving. Charlie grimaced in disgust and sympathy.

He could imagine what it was to lose a brother. Hell, he had nightmares about it for the last few weeks. He however couldn't feel sorry for the man that died. Swallowing, he opened the door on his side. He got out of the car and averted his eyes from the gruesome picture in front of him. His eyes caught the familiar shape of Blake's house in the distance. His legs felt jittery and he had to lean back against the car. This was close. Too close.

Hobart was leaning over Ben, putting him into handcuffs and pulling him to the back of their car. Ben didn't put up any resistance. He just stared at the ground, dazed.

Charlie could hear sirens in the distance.

The cavalry was there.

They were late... but that didn't matter.

Charlie looked at Hobart and gave him a nod of thanks.

He wasn't left hanging after all.

* * *

The couch wasn't the most comfortable place in the world, yet Charlie felt perfectly content to stay there for the following day or week. Maybe it was because he had it all for himself. He was leaning back on the pillow Jean brought, one hand resting carefully on his stomach while the other was propping up the bag filled with ice, holding it against his forehead. The cut from his collision with the wheel wasn't that serious and had stopped bleeding with the help of some butterfly bandages, though the eggnog bruise forming underneath was more uncomfortable. Despite his headache though Charlie couldn't help but feel kind of jittery.

After all, he was alive.

Ben was alive too and he was pretty sure that once the primary shock from the death of his brother dissipated, he would start talking. Lawson and Hobart would make sure of that and Charlie swore to himself he would be present, if only to make sure that Ben wasn't harmed in the process. He still owed the guy something.

Speaking of the devil, Lawson was pacing the living room, ranting at Charlie for being stupid enough to leave the station without a backup. Charlie wanted to point out that in the end he did have a backup but then he thought better of it. The rant would surely end sooner if he stayed silent and looked contrite. That wasn't hard to do after all. The ice bag was starting to melt and Charlie kept grimacing as droplets of water ran down his face. He didn't dare to take it off however. At least it was covering half his face and making him look more pitiful than ever.

That should have counted for something, right?

Unfortunately, Lawson was too annoyed to pay attention to him and if anything his lack of comments made him more furious.

"Are you even listening to me Charlie?" he barked and Charlie blinked, because if the boss was calling him by his name, he had to be pissed.

"Uh... yeah. Sorry, Boss," he said, hoping that would be enough to placate the man.

Lawson shot him a look then grunted, seemingly more annoyed.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

Charlie shrugged. The move awakened the throbbing in his ribs and he winced, just as Jean was coming in with a tray of drinks.

"Matthew! Can't you stop pestering the boy even for a moment? I hardly think this is the right time!" she admonished.

"Oh come on, he's perfectly fine!"

Charlie scoffed. Now while he technically wasn't seriously injured, he was far from perfectly fine. He did have a headache rivalling one of his worse hangovers and one of the other reasons why he decided the couch would be his dwelling for the next few days was the fact that moving around just caused the whole world to tilt at strange angles.

Jean at least seemed to be on the same page as him, because she shot Lawson a glare that made the man fall silent for a blissful second. With a gruff snort, Lawson settled down in one of the chairs.

It had been a long day, for everyone involved and Charlie felt a twitch of guilt for being the cause of it.

The whole showdown was rather anticlimactic, Charlie thought as his mind took him back to the moments shortly after they apprehended Ben.

He remembered leaning against the hood, listening to Hobart talking in the radio. He thought it was useless, seeing as a police car was pulling up right next to them. It was starting to look like a damn parking lot, Charlie thought idly.

Of course it was Lawson in all his furious glory. Charlie barely blinked and despite his limp, the man was right next to him. A look of shock crossed his face for a second as he caught the sight of the body, but that was quickly replaced by something else.

Lawson reached out, clasping Charlie's face, startling him out of his weird haze.

"You alright kid?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically low, almost shaky.

Charlie blinked, stumped.

"Y-yeah," he stuttered. Why the hell was Lawson looking at him as if he was the one with the bullet in his skull?

It was only later, when he was settled in Blake's car for the rather short ride home when he caught sight of himself in the mirror and understood. He had blood smeared all over the left side of his face, the darkest splotch vanishing somewhere under his hairline.

Charlie wasn't sure what Lawson heard in the radio, but based on the speed at which he and the others arrived, they probably expected something worse.

Even Blake had appeared out of nowhere it seemed. Though maybe it was just Charlie's distorted perception of time. He did feel rather woozy through all, that's why he preferred to lean against the car, out in the fresh air. What if he needed to puke? He had rather not mess up Bill's car. That was just asking for trouble.

When Blake did arrive, his face was unusually pale and full of concern because of course he had first seen the crashed cop car on the road and didn't have the luxury of the police radio. Charlie wasn't sure what he expected from the man. Most likely an angry shake or scathing words for bringing the threat so close to Jean. That's what he expected out of everyone at this point.

What he got was Blake pulling him into a short but strong embrace.

Charlie blinked.

"Charlie! I thought-"

"Uh... am fine Doc," Charlie managed to utter into the man's shoulder, while trying valiantly to pull back and not to bloody up his clothes. Really. Was everyone crazy today or was he hallucinating?

Blake had finally let go of him long enough for Charlie to try and straighten up, making an effort not to look like a total wimp in front of the other officers milling about the scene.

"No bullet holes?" Blake asked seriously.

"Nope," Charlie answered, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes. It hardly seemed appropriate. "Not in me at least," he added, his eyes glancing at the other car.

Blake grimaced. Still he gently clasped Charlie's chin and looked into his eyes.

"Am fine, Doc," Charlie reassured him and Blake let go with a sigh.

"Any nausea? Double vision?"

Charlie shrugged, thinking it unwise to actually shake his head at this point.

Blake's eyes narrowed but he was interrupted by a call from Lawson.

"Blake! If you have a moment?"

Blake nodded, but turned back towards Charlie.

"Don't go anywhere," he warned, which seemed a bit moot. Charlie was happy that things around were mostly still. He had no intention of trying to run and face plant in front of some junior officer. He was already feeling embarrassed enough as it was. It was as if he was either going through a ringer or being coddled to death by the people around him. Charlie hoped his image wasn't permanently ruined. He would like to come out of things looking like a capable individual for once.

Charlie scoffed at his own maudlin thoughts. They were hardly logical or right at the moment, he recognized that at least. With a sigh he decided for once to just do what he was told. He watched Blake first taking a look at Kenneth, making a perfunctory check of the man's pulse. Of course there was none. After all, Charlie could see a splotch of brain matter on the windshield from this angle.

Admittedly, focusing on that thing probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. Charlie would still say days later that him bending over and missing decorating Bill's car with his lunch by mere inches was caused by the head injury and not the gruesome scene in front of him.

It hardly seemed to matter as shortly after he found himself being pushed into a different car. It was only when they pulled up in front of the house when he realised the Doc had left a crime scene to tend to him. That seemed rather inappropriate.

"Nonsense, Charlie. Living always take precedence over the dead," Blake noted when he steadied Charlie's swaying form and led him towards his practice.

"What about Ben?" Charlie asked gruffly then winced when Jean appeared in the hallway and let out a startled yelp upon seeing them. He imagined the look was a bit unsettling.

"Charlie! What on earth?" she asked even as Blake raised a calming hand.

"It's alright, he's fine," he reassured her while Charlie endured another hug. Well, endured was maybe a bit harsh word. It always warmed him when Jean showed her care. This time he just returned the hug a bit more fiercely, glad that she was safe and didn't have to witness any of the gruesomeness.

"What happened?" she asked once she released him from her grip.

"I'd like to know that as well," Blake said with a bit of a scowl and so Charlie had no choice but to give them a short recap of the situation, while Blake was taking care of his head wound.

Jean tutted at the risk he had taken, while Blake clenched his teeth during most of it. It was apparent he realized how close Charlie came to dying or how easily the situation might've turned critical even to Jean. Charlie was still expecting some choice words, but Blake held back.

Charlie wasn't sure why... so blaming it on the possible concussion, he asked.

"I'm not happy about you taking unnecessary risks," Blake admitted gruffly. "But it's hardly my place to give you hell for it."

Jean rolled her eyes. She was just using a wet rag to clean Charlie's face from dried up blood.

"It would be a bit hypocritical after all," she muttered silently and Charlie's lips twitched.

"I heard that," Blake noted but his tone was more amused than anything. "Be as it may, I'm sure Matthew will have some choice words. I am also reserving the right to address this at a later time... preferably when you will be able to listen properly."

The slight smile slipped from Charlie's lips. Of course. It would be too much to ask not to have anyone chew his ears off for something he was hardly at fault of.

"Alright. To bed with you. I need to go back to the station and then stop at the morgue," Blake sighed patting Charlie on the leg.

"I should come with-" Charlie started, attempting to slide down from the exam bed, only to pause and grab for the nearest thing to steady himself. The blasted room decided to start swinging around. He groaned and closed his eyes momentarily.

"You're staying. I don't need you throwing up in the car," Blake said, while Charlie let out a groan. He was hoping he won't throw up right there, screw the car.

"Lie down and stay there. Doctor's orders," Blake admonished.

Charlie would have liked to protest, but he was too busy keeping his mouth closed and his head on his neck. Without a word he laid back down.

"Good boy."

Another pat on the leg and by the time Charlie opened his eyes, Blake was already gone.

It took him a moment... or maybe few hours... for his vision and stomach to settle. Jean had been in and out of the practice, leaving him to rest. Which would've been all good and dandy, but every time Charlie opened his eyes he expected to see Kendrick leaning over him with an evil grin.

When he just about rolled off the bed by accident, he decided that perhaps the couch in the living room would be a better place to hang around. He wasn't even entertaining the idea of scaling the stairs. While his own bed seemed like a wonderful mirage, he didn't want to be kept out of the picture. Which meant waiting for the return of Lawson and the Doc.

A bit later, when Lawson arrived, Charlie thought he might've made a mistake. Perhaps being left out wouldn't have hurt for the night at least.

Charlie was tucked up on the couch, the ice melting on his face while Lawson ranted. What he got from his words was that Ben was in no shape to talk right now. Blake had to sedate him, hoping that he would be up for an interrogation the next morning.

Charlie hoped so as well. He had no clue how they managed to find him. Just who gave them the information?

Lawson shook his head gruffly when he asked.

"No bloody clue. But whomever it was... they will pay," he added darkly.

Charlie felt oddly reassured by that.


	24. Ben

It was strange to wake up in a cell. Ben was expecting this to happen for quite some time now. After all, they had been on the run for almost a month. They.

There was no more them. His brother was dead.

Ben should know, he saw his blood and brain splatter all over the windshield. The mere thought made him want to gag, but he didn't. There was nothing left to bring up anyway. And whatever he was given by the man introducing himself as Dr. Blake, managed to slow down his reactions. It was as if his emotions were covered under a wet blanket.

Ben didn't mind in the least.

He was sure that if his mind was allowed to clear up properly, he would turn crazy from the reality of his situation.

His brother was dead and he was in some small rotten cell in a town far from home. Why?

Ben threw an arm over his eyes to block out to rays of sun coming from the tiny barred window. He had no intention of getting up. There was no reason at all. His life was already over.

The life Kenneth had saved so many years ago.

Ben wondered if it was even worth it. Back then. Maybe if Kenneth had left him in the house with his dying mother and drunkard stepfather Ben would've had a better chance at life. Maybe if Kenneth hadn't broken his stepfather's jaw after the man raised his hands one too many times against Ben... maybe if he hadn't taken him back home and hid him in his own room until old Richard found him one day and sent him packing back.

As it was Ben and Kenneth shared a father, some blood and a hatred for the fact they had been separated and brought up in two very different families. Well, it was probably just Ben who hated that.

He had to return home, had to bear a few more beatings until Kenneth threatened his stepfather with a knife and sent him packing. Ben felt at the same time grateful and ashamed. He was fifteen, only two years younger than Kenneth. He should've had the guts to protect his family.

But he was never the fighter. When threatened, he covered and Kenneth always played the protective older brother. For a long time Ben was thankful for that.

For a long time... until he couldn't be thankful any more. He knew the fight rings were a stupid idea. He knew that the drugs were even worse. Kidnapping... hell, he hated when Kenneth dragged Caleb home, with the explanation it was his old bud's kid and he will take care of him.

Ben imagined that taking care of someone didn't involve feeding their drug habit or letting them get the snot kicked out of them. But once again, he didn't dare to do more than protest. Because as Kenneth reminded him, time and time again... if not for him, Ben would have been dead a long time ago.

For some time, the operation ran smoothly. For some time, Ben deluded himself into thinking that it was alright. They weren't doing anything wrong. After all... Kenneth was a cop. Who should know better what was right or wrong than a man paid to do the right thing?

Of course, Ben knew these thoughts were just lies he used to convince himself he wasn't an accessory in crime. Deluded thoughts from a deluded man.

It all came to a swift end on that faithful night. Ben still didn't know how he and Kenneth managed to escape from the bust, but they did and ever since, they were on the run.

Luckily, Kenneth had a stash of money hidden in several different places. If nothing else, the man knew how cops thought, what they did and so eluding capture wasn't so hard.

They managed fine, albeit Kenneth's nerves were stretched thin, threatening to snap at any moment. He was going crazier by each day and Ben begged him to just leave the country. They could hop on a boat and leave... go to Indonesia or the Philippines, start new lives. It couldn't be that hard.

It would have been better than sleeping in dingy motels or in the car, spending days drunk and nights travelling. Checking the newspapers, risking an occasional call to their father or a friend of a friend to get news about what was happening home.

It was after one of those calls that the situation changed. Ben couldn't do a thing to stop his brother after that. Suddenly, they were heading south instead of north. He didn't get answers to his increasing questions until they sat in the car, in a town called Ballarat, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for someone to appear.

Then everything went to hell in a hand basket.

Now Ben was lying on the uncomfortable cot, still half drugged out of his mind, mourning his brother.

Until the door of the cell rattled open and he was unceremoniously dragged out into another unfamiliar room.

Ben allowed the copper to push him into the seat, handcuffed hands lying on top of the desk lifelessly.

There was another cop, one of those that arrived at the scene shortly after he puked his guts out. It was the boss, Ben knew. He couldn't care less.

The man was talking to him. First in a calm and composed manner, almost friendly. Ben didn't listen. Words didn't really have meaning to him. The other cop was there too, the one who had shot his brother. He knew, because he caught sight of the bastard leaning out of the window with a gun seconds before the crack and the splatter...

Ben swallowed down the feeling of nausea. He couldn't think about it. Didn't want to.

The man, Hobart was his name, slammed his hands on the desk, rattling it.

Ben raised his eyes.

They kept asking questions, kept pushing. Hobart was the one to look out for. He was the violent one, Ben knew. Could see it in his eyes. The man was just itching to stay alone in the room with him.

Ben thought that should have scared him. He thought he should have been feeling something. Fear. Hate. Rage...

He was numb.

The boss frowned, looking straight into his eyes. Ben wasn't sure what he saw, but he let out a frustrated sigh, then nodded at Hobart.

"Bring in Davis," the man said and for the first time Hobart hesitated.

"Boss?"

The man just glared and Hobart left the room. The boss leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes not leaving Ben.

They sat there in silence. Ben thought maybe it was a scare tactic, though for what purpose he had no idea. After all, they had him caught. His brother dead. There was hardly anything else they could need from him.

All the questions the man had been shooting his way this last half an hour just a hazy memory in the background. Ben didn't catch even one of them.

When the silence was becoming stifling and Ben wished he could just close his eyes and go back to sleep, the door opened and in walked a familiar face.

Oh. So that was Davis.

Funny, despite all this, Ben still hadn't known Charlie's full name. Kenneth didn't think it important to share. For him, it was Chuckles or 'The Bastard' and 'Rat'. Ben wondered if even Charlie was the man's real name, though he supposed so.

At first they just stared at each other.

Ben regarded the man in front of him through unblinking eyes.

He looked tired. There was a cast on his hand and a fresh bruise on his head. But there was no other obvious lasting damage, not from the time he spent with them. Somehow, that sent a spark of anger through Ben.

The clean shave, the sparkling uniform... it was such a difference from the bum Kenneth dragged to his house almost two months ago. For some reason, Ben felt cheated.

"Well, ain't you looking dandy," he uttered with ire, startling even himself.

Charlie blinked, then settled in the seat opposite him.

"Yeah. It's a wonder what not having to fight for my life does for my visage," he replied and Ben looked away. He didn't want to speak to this man. Hell, he didn't want to look at him.

It was scary how the mere presence of Charlie brought up emotions Ben didn't know he had. Didn't know how to handle.

He felt guilty... for being part of what had been happening back home. He felt angry... because the man in front of him shot his brother and in the end was the cause of his death. Most of all, he felt lost and alone. His only protector was gone.

This wasn't his world. He was left alone in the mess of someone else's doing, without a clue of how to proceed.

The fear was becoming overwhelming and so Ben turned to what worked best. Numbness.

He tried to ignore Charlie's questions. He set his sight on the wall behind the two men, his ears prickling at the voices addressing him. Still, he did his best not to pay attention.

Until Charlie moved, settling on the desk, too close for Ben's liking.

"Are you listening Ben?" Charlie asked, his voice piercing through Ben's haze. Deep blue eyes gazed into his forcefully. "If you won't cooperate... you'll be treated as a killer."

Ben startled.

"What?"

Charlie nodded.

"You heard me."

"I'm not a killer!" Ben protested, suddenly the reality of his situation sinking in.

"You were there when Kenneth wanted to shoot me! You did nothing!" Charlie snapped angrily.

"I couldn't stop him," Ben protested, flustered.

Charlie's brows furrowed. He obviously didn't understand.

"Why? Why the hell not?" he asked and Ben gritted his teeth.

"Because I owe him!" he retorted, losing patience. Hadn't he told this to Charlie before? Didn't he explain?

Charlie snorted.

"Yeah, you said that before. What... did he save you from a bully? Was he a good big brother? Is that enough to cover for a murderer?"

Ben winced. The words hit too close to home. How was he supposed to explain that yes, Kenneth indeed saved him from a bully that was his stepfather? And yes, he was a good brother. Despite being a jerk, he made sure Ben had a place to sleep and food to eat once his mother passed away. Despite being a bastard, he was a brother that Ben feared and admired at the same time. But there was no point in explaining that. None of those things would save him from the judge. There was one thing though that Charlie got wrong.

"My brother wasn't a killer."

There was a snort and Ben startled, realizing it came from the older cop. He almost forgot his presence.

"The gun pointed in my face might've confused me," Charlie said with fire in his eyes.

"That's different! He... he didn't kill anyone, before-" Ben shook his head, jaw clenched tight. "My brother wasn't a killer."

There was something like sympathy in Charlie's eyes, but that vanished shortly.

"People went missing, Ben. Bodies were found."

Ben shook his head.

"That wasn't Ken," he said, adamant. No. His brother was a bastard with a short fuse, but surely... all those men...

It was as if Charlie was reading his mind.

"How many, huh?"

Ben blinked, looking up at him wide eyed.

"How many men stayed at your house since the fights begun?"

"I don't... I didn't-" count, Ben wanted to add, but that would be a lie. He remembered each and every one of them. Some were young, some were middle aged. All were lost.

"What happened to them after the third fight? If they even got that far."

Ben shook his head.

"We sent them away. Kenneth... he... he and Richard drove them out of town. Gave them money."

"Even you don't believe that," Charlie snorted.

Ben wanted to.

Charlie's eyes turned cold.

"Third fight was for life. You realize what that means, right? Either the guy died, or he had to kill someone. And you think that doesn't make your brother a killer?"

Ben looked away. The accusations stung. Of course he knew. Of course he thought about it, every damn time he had to walk down those steps and face another stranger in his basement. He felt guilt. He also felt anger. Because it wasn't his brother who had to face these accusations, but him.

Before he could react, Charlie spoke again.

"Tell me one thing, Ben. How did you know I would be alone yesterday? Were you following me for several days?"

Ben shook his head, stunned by the question.

"No. We... we just arrived."

Charlie's eyes narrowed.

"Then how? It was the first time I was alone in weeks!" Charlie pressed, confusion and annoyance started to seep through his tone.

Ben looked up at him, figuring out where he was going with the question. Feeling coldness wrap around his spine like the fingers of his dead brother.

"We didn't know," Ben said, almost a whisper.

Charlie frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Ben gritted his teeth.

"It didn't _matter_ ," Ben said finally. "It wouldn't have mattered even if you had a car full of cops! Not to Kenneth."

Charlie's shoulders sagged, a look of realization and horror colouring his eyes.

"You were ready to kill anyone else getting in the way," Charlie spoke almost in a whisper. "And yet you dare to say your brother wasn't a killer?"

Ben had enough.

He could handle a lot of things. From fear to pain and disappointment. But the judgmental look, the tone of the voice stating what he didn't dare to accept himself, was just too much.

"Shut up," he hissed. "Shut the fuck up!" he repeated, this time much louder. His hands curled into fists and his whole body tensed in reaction to the stress.

Charlie didn't back away though. The cop behind him moved, clearing his throat threateningly. But Charlie didn't.

"I know he was your brother. But... not even you can think he was innocent."

"You don't understand. He's my brother... and you killed him," Ben said, the last part coming out in a defeated choke.

Charlie shook his head.

"I didn't. He could've well left me alone. You both could've left, instead of seeking revenge."

"It wasn't like that," Ben kept protesting. "Kenneth wasn't-"

The desk rattled again, this time startling both Ben and Charlie. There he was, the Boss, with hands slammed against wood, leaning threateningly close to Ben, eyes burning with passion.

"Enough!" he roared and Charlie narrowed on the desk, as if ready to step in if things went south. That move itself made Ben wary.

"I'm not interested in a sob story about your older brother. We have you on an attempted murder of a police officer. That is enough to get you life, if not the noose. Now, you have a choice. You can tell us everything you know about your brother's operation and his contacts, along with how the hell you found sergeant Davis. And you better start talking before I decide to just toss you in the rig and throw away the key."

Ben swallowed, cold sweat running down his back.

The noose. Was there really a chance he would get the death penalty? No, it couldn't be. He wasn't a lawyer, but he was pretty sure his country haven't had a hanging in almost two decades.

"There's no death penalty in New South Wales," he said shakily, then let out a breath when he saw the boss nod.

"That's true. On the other hand, you and your brother tried to kill a police officer here in Victoria. And I'm pretty sure death penalty wasn't abolished here."

Ben felt his blood run cold.

"I... I didn't do anything," he stuttered but a glare from the man shut him up.

"You did plenty. But you can leave the pleading and excuses for the judge and jury. What I am interested in now are the facts. So start talking."

Or else... the silent threat hung in the air, so thick it could've been cut with a knife. Out of desperation, Ben threw a helpless look towards Charlie. The man gave a small, barely noticeable nod.

"What... what do you want to know?"

The next half an hour was spent with Lawson or Charlie giving him questions and jotting down his answers in their notepads. Anything from when was the first time Kenneth brought a fighter to his house to the names of people he knew had been involved in the scheme and the betting.

Ben told them what he knew. Oftentimes, all he could do was shrug and say that he didn't know. After all, he wasn't really part of the business, only the occasional driver and delegated prison guard. His knowledge reached only so far and he doubted it was of any help to someone from a different town. Finally, it seemed that the questions might reach the end. At least Ben felt they had covered about all there was to cover. Only thing missing was the reason he was in Ballarat right now.

Of course the cops didn't forget about that.

"I don't get it. By your own words... you could have just left the country for some time. Why didn't you?" Charlie asked sounding genuinely confused.

Ben could hardly blame him. He wasn't that much clearer on the answer.

"I'm not sure," he admitted wearily. He saw the frown returning to Lawson's face and quickly shook his head. "I'm not lying!" he protested before either men could speak."I wanted to leave, I swear to God I did. Kenneth... he was waiting. I'm not sure what for. Maybe he was just hoping that our father will somehow manage to make this all go away... I don't know," Ben said, letting the frustration he felt about it seep into his voice.

"I almost managed to convince him, but then... then there was the phone call."

Lawson's eyes narrowed and Ben knew that was what he was really after this whole interview.

"What phone call?" it was Charlie who asked.

Ben bit his lips nervously.

This might've been his out of jail free card. If he didn't mess this up...

It was obvious from Lawson's glare that he knew where his thoughts were heading. Ben swallowed.

"I... I need some... guarantees."

"Guarantees?" Charlie looked momentarily confused, that was until Lawson snorted. Then his eyes cleared up in understanding.

"What do you mean?"

Ben hesitated but knew there was nothing else to do. He could stop talking and face a possible death sentence... or he could give them a piece of information in exchange for help.

"I... I don't want to end up on the death row," he said outright, deciding that honesty might be his best chance right now.

Lawson rolled his eyes.

"That's hardly up to us."

Ben frowned.

"If you can't promise me a lighter charge... there's no reason for me to cooperate."

He knew it was a gamble. He knew it from the dangerous glint in Lawson's eyes, or from the way Charlie moved just an inch closer to stop whatever altercation there might appear.

"This is not a bloody farmer's market, _Ben_!" Lawson barked. "We don't negotiate."

Ben gulped, then shrugged.

"You want to know who sent us?"

Charlie gave a nod. Lawson didn't move a muscle.

"I will tell you. _Only_ you... only now. I'm not gonna repeat this in front of a judge or other cops."

It was obvious both cops were interested in the offer.

"I ask only one thing in return."

"What's that?" Charlie asked.

"The charges... I... I didn't kill anyone. I never tried to kill you, Charlie. I swear... please. Don't let them send me to death row for that."

Charlie looked at him for a long moment, then turned towards Lawson. They exchanged a look and Ben saw the barely noticeable nod. He didn't know if he should feel relief or not about that.

"Alright," Charlie sighed, turning back to Ben. "Talk."


	25. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we reached the end of the story! I hope I wrapped up everything satisfyingly and that there are no loose ends anywhere. If so, I apologize. I wanted to thank everyone who read this long fic and an extra thank you to all who found the time to review. I appreciate each and every one. Now off you go... enjoy the last chapter. Hope to see you at the next story soon :)

It was over. Finally.

Charlie had stepped out of the court building, feeling as if the weight of the world had slipped from his shoulders. Thanks to Ben's statement and Johnson's hard work at collecting evidence and managing to find several other witnesses, most people were acquitted on the charges served. Even Dr. Kendrick, which probably made Charlie the happiest, as weird as it might sound.

It also helped that after all the pressure, Richard had turned against Douglas and Kenneth.

What made his mood darken a bit was the fact that the wealthy and influential parents of the trio hadn't been charged with anything. They were slick and used all their pull to try and clear their names. The fact they owned two thirds of the business in the town was pretty clear as soon as they were called to the stand. While there wasn't much they could do about their children, their lawyers did all to preserve their own image. Thus it was a bit of a bittersweet win, but a win anyway.

People at least knew and with the Chief Superintendent Fernandez in charge of the police force, accompanied with Johnson, Charlie was pretty sure sooner or later those bad apples will get taken care of as well.

With a sigh, he leaned against the railing, overlooking the nearby park. The trial was over. Most of everyone had left the building already... Charlie had waited out the first wave of people leaving, wanting to keep out of the flashes of the journalists. There was nowhere to rush either.

The trial had taken over a week to finish. While Lawson did drive him up to town and waited for the first day of the trial, once he made sure Charlie was in good hands and under the watchful eyes of Chief Superintendent Fernandez and Johnson, he returned back to Ballarat. Charlie had been spending the week at Johnson's place, under constant guard.

That of course meant once again giving up his own freedom for the next few days. No lonely runs.

Charlie accepted that with a sigh. He had to admit that the head injury he suffered in the car crash few days prior was still giving him trouble and the memory of the gun pointing at his face the one time he decided to forgo the precautions made him think twice about repeating the mistake.

So that was why he was now standing there, breathing in the fresh air, letting the sun shine on his face and waiting for Johnson to join him. They were meant to stop for a celebratory dinner, Charlie planned one more night in town and come morning, he would hop on the bus and head home.

It was funny how that idea filled him with peace now. Before... when all of this started, thinking of home meant uncertainty. About his place there... about his capabilities. Was Ballarat where he should focus his career? Or was there somewhere else he was more fit for? Right now the idea of leaving was more daunting than the idea of staying. Charlie still wasn't sure whether he wanted to stay the rest of his life in the town that seemingly adopted him, but then... he didn't have to decide that now. Staying still and figuring things out slowly seemed the best course of action.

Especially knowing there was still someone out there for his blood.

Charlie sighed, his fingers idly clapping against the railing.

Unfortunately, Ben didn't give them enough answers and it would take time and more work to find out who was pulling the strings. If they ever did. Charlie just hoped that it ended there. Truly, he wouldn't have cared for who started all this, even if the man's intentions were less than innocent. But he could hardly ignore the fact that the same person who sent him undercover was the one who leaked the information about Charlie's identity and location to Kenneth, even going as far as putting a price on his head.

Charlie squeezed the railing in the anger that thought raised. Someone actually wanted him dead. Why?

"Why the long face? I thought you'd be happy to have this over with," Johnson had stepped up next to Charlie, one eyebrow raised in question.

Charlie shrugged.

"Just tired of it all I suppose," he said, not wanting to burden the man with his own trouble. It was enough Lawson and Blake were involved. He knew that meant just one thing... they wouldn't let go until the danger was truly over.

"Well then it's good you can take a vacation now," Johnson said with a smile and a friendly pat on Charlie's shoulder. Charlie snorted.

"I wish," he muttered. "I think I took out all my vacation days and sick leave for the foreseeable future."

Johnson rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure your Boss will let you get a bit of a vacation. Or you know... you can just stay a few days longer and we can do some pub crawls."

Charlie laughed at that.

"I'm not that kind of a guy," he said with an easy smile. Johnson smirked, but his eyes flicked to the side and he grew a bit more serious. Charlie frowned, following his gaze.

"He wanted to have a few words," Johnson spoke almost apologetically. "I hope you don't mind."

Charlie blinked, then gave a slight shake of his head. In front of him stood Caleb.

The boy looked hesitant as he took a few steps forward. The cop that was guarding him stayed in place.

"I'll give you few minutes, then you need to head out, alright?" Johnson spoke to Caleb, then joined the cop and started some small talk. Caleb slowly walked up to where Charlie stood, his eyes cast down. Charlie sighed. It was like looking at a kicked puppy. He once again leaned against the railing, trying to look relaxed even though he wasn't. Then he nodded at Caleb invitingly. The boy let out a breath he was obviously holding and copied Charlie's stance, standing only a few steps to his right.

"Hey," Charlie was the first one to speak.

"Hey," Caleb muttered, his gaze focused on the bench in front of the building and the woman feeding the pigeons.

Charlie wasn't sure where to start... or if he even should. He wasn't sure he had anything to say to Caleb. While he saw him on the stand twice already, they haven't spoken yet. Caleb never looked at him though. After a moment of thick silence Charlie figured that he will throw a bone to the kid.

"So uh... how's the recovery going?" he asked the first thing that came to mind. He tried to keep his tone friendly. Caleb shot him a look of surprise then shrugged.

"Good I suppose. I'm... I've been clean for few weeks now. The shakes are gone too."

Charlie nodded.

"Good. So... any plans?" he kept up the jovial tone, unsure where this was headed. Did Caleb just want to chat? Or was he trying to say something?

"I'm sorry," the boy said, so low that Charlie barely heard it.

"Huh?"

"I..." Caleb cleared his throat, then cast a glance towards Johnson who was obviously trying hard to pretend he wasn't watching them. "I'm sorry. For you know..." Caleb nodded towards Charlie's side.

"Stabbing me?" Charlie finished and Caleb winced.

"Yeah. That."

Charlie shook his head. He wanted to say that it was alright, that in the scheme of things that was actually the least of his worries, but that would have been a lie. While the wound wasn't serious, he still couldn't get the image of the kid's face when he plunged the knife into him. What was worse were the nightmares where Caleb's face was for whatever reason replaced by the face of one of his brothers. But the scariest dreams weren't those where Caleb hurt him, no. The scariest dreams were the ones where it was Charlie holding the knife, when it was one of his little brothers lying in some dark alley, shooting up heroin.

"Why did you?" Charlie asked out of a sudden.

Caleb worried at his lips, giving another shrug.

"I was drugged," he muttered as if that was an answer.

Charlie shook his head.

"No. That wasn't it. The cops were there... I wasn't a threat anymore. You had no reason... except that you wanted to."

Caleb didn't argue, didn't move a muscle. He just kept staring ahead and Charlie fought down the urge to grab his shirt and shake the numbness out of him.

"Why? Why were you so pissed at me?"

Caleb's head jerked to the side and he knew he gave the right question.

"I thought you ruined it."

Charlie frowned.

"Ruined what?"

Caleb shrugged.

"Everything. I... I thought I was happy the way I was," he tried to explain, although it was apparent he had trouble coming up with the right words. "I had roof over my head. Ben was a decent bloke who seemed to care. I had food and drugs. It was heaps better than the alternative."

"Oh. So... the fights for life were what... just a fun past time?" Charlie asked, feeling suddenly angry.

The idea that Caleb was actually okay with that part of the arrangement made him doubt whether it was wise to let him go. But then, Caleb shook his head, shame colouring his face.

"No, I didn't mean that part!" he quickly recounted. "I never wanted to fight. Hell, I hardly remember the ring... I was high as a kite. For me, it was just... like a dream. Nothing else."

Charlie looked at him. A dream... but one that involved at least one dead person. True, Caleb could hardly help it. He was under the influence and Charlie was pretty sure that if it hadn't been him, the other guy would have finished Caleb instead. That was just how the whole damn thing was set up after all.

"Look, I just wanted to say sorry," Caleb spoke up, nervously sidestepping, running one hand over his hair. He looked like a nervous kid in front of his principal, instead of someone who was forced to fight for his life. Charlie felt a twinge of compassion for the kid.

So he let out a sigh and gave a nod.

"Alright," he said simply.

Caleb blinked, looking at him with wide eyes.

"What?"

Charlie huffed.

"Apology accepted," he said and rolled his eyes. "As long as you won't mess up again."

"Oh. Thanks... " There was an awkward silence and Charlie suddenly felt tired. His stomach was growling from emptiness, his head was pounding and he was truly looking forward for some warm food and a cold pint for once. He took pity on the kid.

"So... what are your plans now?" he asked conversationally.

Caleb looked a bit stumped by the change of topic, but quickly recovered.

"Uh well... I still have to finish the program," he muttered and Charlie gave a nod of approval. Caleb seemed to perk up at that.

"What next?"

"Well... Gary actually offered to help me. He has a friend who has a farm in the north and needs some help. I would get lodgings and food... for the start. As for what happens later... my sponsor told me I don't need to worry about that right now. One step at a time," Caleb said and Charlie found that advice oddly fitting.

They had shared few more words and by the time Johnson walked up to them to remind Caleb he needed to go, the kid seemed pretty relaxed. He had no trouble looking Charlie in the eyes, head held high, a smile touching his lips as he waved his goodbye.

Charlie couldn't stop the smile tugging at his own lips.

If nothing else... this was the price of his effort. One kid... hopefully changing his ways for the better.

One step at a time. Yes. He could definitely live with that.

* * *

Matthew Lawson hated flying. It was thus then with great reluctance that he found himself on the plane to Sydney. As the plane shook once shortly after takeoff, Lawson truly regretted that he didn't just sacrifice two days off his schedule to travel by bus. Now he sat there, hands clutching the armrests in a death grip, eyes shut tight so as not to even catch a glimpse from the window. He also didn't want to see the amused smirk on the face of the brat sitting right in front of him. Really, what crazy person would bring a child into this death trap?

The plane gave another small shake and Lawson let out an involuntary gasp, eyes snapping open. The kid in front of him chuckled. Lawson's foot reacted on instinct really as he stretched it rather forcibly into the back of the seat.

"Hey!" the kid yelped, the smirk leaving his face.

"Ah sorry, needed to stretch my leg a bit," Lawson said, more to the kid's mother than the boy. He even raised his cane to show he was afflicted. The woman nodded understandingly and hushed her protesting son. Lawson let a small smile touch his lips. Maybe he could distract himself by poking the seat in front of him with the cane. It had to be better than looking outside and thinking about the hundreds of miles between himself and the safety of the ground.

Unfortunately, the boy seemed to learn his lesson or simply found different amusement, leaving Lawson to his thoughts. Which currently weren't the brightest of all. He kept returning to the reason of this flight.

Charlie Davis.

The man who was starting to cause almost as much trouble as Lucien Blake.

Well, maybe not as much, Lawson had to admit, even if only to himself. But the sergeant did manage to get himself into trouble a lot lately. There was just some restlessness about him in the last few months.

Lawson knew what that meant. Doubts and mistakes. This whole undercover case was a prime example of that. Charlie was taking risks, trying to prove something. While the recent conversation with Charlie brought some light into that, Lawson still didn't truly understand the man's fears. Because Lawson knew with all his heart that Charlie was where he was supposed to be, doing the job he was meant to do. Preparing to take over one day.

Which was exactly the reason why he fought down his fears and sat on this damn plane. Well, that and what they learned from Ben during the interrogation.

During one of his phone calls to check with his father on the situation Kenneth received a phone number to call at certain time of the day. His father didn't know who was the caller. The only thing the man on the other end told him was that he could give Kenneth the identity of the person who brought down their operation.

Kenneth took the bait. Of course he did, with his impulsiveness. Ben said he was trying to convince him against it, he swore up and down that all he wanted was to leave the country. But Kenneth still decided to call.

Ben wasn't there when the call happened, for safety reasons Kenneth drove to a phone booth several miles away.

' _When he came back, I knew there was nothing I could do to convince him,' Ben said and when Charlie asked why, he shrugged._

' _He learned you were a cop.'_

That was really it.

Now there was the question of who was the person on the other end of the phone. All Ben knew was that the man gave Kenneth plenty of details on Charlie. Enough to make his blood boil in rage and send him on the road to his death.

' _Do you know the name of the person?'_

_Ben shook his head._

' _No. I know the phone number Kenneth called, but that's it.'_

' _No name, nothing? And yet your brother believed him?' Lawson was doubtful about that. 'Come on. He must've told Kenneth something to convince him!'_

_Ben looked at Charlie then a slightly confused look on his face._

' _Well... I asked Kenneth if this wasn't a trap.'_

' _And? What did he say?'_

_Ben shrugged._

' _He said he had his reasons. Personal ones.'_

_Both Charlie and Lawson raised an eyebrow at that._

' _Anything else?' Lawson pushed._

' _He said something about payback... for family.'_

And that was all Ben could tell them.

Lawson had him write down the phone number at least. Following a hunch, he found out it was the number of a phone booth in Sydney. While that lead them back to Deputy Commissioner Andrews, it was hardly the evidence they needed to act.

Charlie had also told Lawson about O'Leary's warning and thought that Andrews wasn't acting on his own accord.

It took some time, a few more calls to O'Leary and a lot of digging. Until finally things clicked. Lawson had a list of people on his desk, who worked closely with the Deputy Commissioner in Sydney, courtesy of O'Leary. It was all really only luck that his eyes spotted a familiar looking surname.

He wasn't familiar with the man per say, but he had seen that surname before. Not that long ago actually.

It hadn't taken much to find out that indeed there was a connection and then everything made sense.

The plane finally landed and Lawson let out a breath of relief. He survived the flight. Now he just needed to survive the following encounter.

The man lived in a building with multiple apartments. It wasn't the worst part of the town, but it wasn't the best either. That made Lawson wonder. He would have thought that someone who had enough pull to orchestrate all of this would be able to get a decent housing for his family. Which begged to think whether this was the right person.

Standing in the shadows, leaning against the brick wall and waiting for a face he only saw on a photograph from an employee file O'Leary sent him two days ago, Lawson tried to ignore his doubt. Second guessing himself and evidence would do him no good. And he was there for a reason after all. To find out the truth.

If the situation changed, well. Lawson patted his pockets, figuring he had all he needed.

The wait wasn't that long. He knew when the man finished at work, once again courtesy of O'Leary. And seeing as it was the middle of the week, he doubted he would go for a pub crawl.

His assumptions were correct. Twenty minutes later a car parked in front of the neighbouring building. When Lawson saw who stepped out, he felt fate itself was playing his cards. His initial plan was to follow the man and confront him at the front door, maybe even try to find some excuse to follow him inside. Now though his suspect had to pass in front of the alley Lawson was hiding at to get to his front door.

Lawson took a look at the mostly empty street. He had to be quick, but it was doable.

He let the man pass him and faster than one would've thought, he stepped out from the shadows and grabbed the man by his shoulder. Before he could turn around in surprise or take some protective actions, Lawson kicked his leg out from under him. As the man lost his balance, Lawson half pulled half showed him into the alley, then slammed him against the wall. If anyone saw it, no one called out.

Just to make sure though, Lawson pressed his arm against the man's throat to stop him from shouting for help.

"What the hell?" the man uttered, his voice shaky as he struggled to get the arm off his neck.

"Shut up!" Lawson hissed. "What's your name?" he asked, wanting to make sure he had the right person. Despite the resemblance with the photo, this guy seemed somehow... smaller. Not at all the threat Lawson expected him to be.

"D-dennis Bancroft," the man stuttered, eyes wide.

Lawson nodded.

"Well then, Dennis. I just want to talk, so I will... let up a bit. But make no mistake. You make a wrong move..." Lawson threateningly patted his jacket and the slight bulge that hinted at the presence of a gun.

Dennis clearly swallowed, then gave a small nod.

"Good."

Lawson let up the pressure, moving his hand instead to Bancroft's shirt so that the man didn't get any ideas about running off.

"Besides... I already know where you live. I can just as well wait for you next time."

Dennis shook his head.

"N-no need," he croaked, clearing his throat. "W-who are you? What do you want from me?" Dennis asked, obviously trying to appear less bothered than he was. Lawson didn't mind in the least. He wanted to drive the fear of God into the man if at all possible. Even though it was really hard to imagine this paper pushing man who most likely haven't faced danger a day in his life was the source of his trouble. Looks could be deceiving Lawson knew. And some people were more dangerous by mere words than actual actions.

"You don't need to know my name," Lawson replied coldly. He shot a look towards the street, but no one seemed to be paying them attention, the setting sun casting enough shadows to make them lost in the darkness. "What I want is to hear the truth."

"What?" Dennis frowned, puzzled.

"Does the name Kenneth Barnes ring a bell?" Lawson asked, waiting for a reaction. He got one.

Bancroft's face twitched, one of his hands curling up into a fist. Though it was apparent he was trying not to show it.

"I don't know who that is. Listen man... I think you mistook me for someo-" he didn't get to finish. Lawson once again slammed him against the wall, this time so hard he heard the man's teeth rattle.

"Stop bullshitting me!" he growled. "I know very well who you are, Bancroft. I know you were the one who contacted Kenneth's father and who put a price on the head of sergeant Davis. What I don't know is bloody _why!_ " Lawson practically roared the last word, spit flying.

Bancroft's face turned darker and darker by every word and now it looked almost crimson.

It wasn't fear though. It was rage.

"If you know all that you bastard, you should already have your answer!" he spit out, for the first time seeming to find some fight in him. He pushed at Lawson's arm, trying to dislodge it, but Lawson was prepared. He increased the pressure on Bancroft's windpipe until the man stopped struggling from anger and started gasping for breath. Only then did Lawson relent his grip and took a step back.

"I warned you not to fight. Next time you try, you will be waking up on the ground right next to that garbage bin. Right where you belong," Lawson said coldly.

Bancroft shot him a glare, his hand curled around his own throat, massaging the skin while taking in lungful of air. He spat out a string of curses but didn't seem to attempt any escape. For now.

Lawson wasn't about to let his attention slip.

"I ask again. Why?"

"Why what?" Bancroft asked, almost petulant.

"What's your bloody issue with Charlie Davis that you were willing to hire a killer for him?"

Bancroft had the guts to roll his eyes.

"I did no such thing."

Lawson growled taking a threatening step closer. Bancroft winced, raising a hand to stop him.

"No! I... didn't hire anyone, I swear! Look around man... do I look like I have the money for a hit? Really!"

Well, Lawson had to give him that. While the man's clothes seemed pristine and pricey, just what a paper pusher at the highest ranks of the police force would need, his car looked like it was at the end of its wits. Definitely of the cheapest range.

"You didn't have to pay him though... after all, you just needed to let a name and address slip. Nothing else. The need for revenge did all the rest."

Bancroft's eyes flashed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he let out through gritted teeth. Lawson was losing patience. So far he didn't get to hear what he needed and time was running out. Any moment some good meddling soul might come here and offer Bancroft a chance to slip away.

He wasn't about to allow that.

Shaking his head in disgust, Lawson took a step towards the street.

"Oh well. Maybe you are right. Maybe it wasn't you, but your _wife_ who did all that. After all... wasn't it her brother you were trying to avenge?"

The words seemed to hit Bancroft with the force of a sledgehammer. His eyes went wide and he shook his head.

"No..." he hissed. "You're not going after Mary! I won't allow that!" There was apparent panic in his eyes and Lawson thought good. Just what he needed.

He paused where he was.

"Well then. Tell me. What the hell did Davis ever do to you and your wife?" Lawson asked, knowing well what the real issue was. But he had to hear it... know he was right.

Bancroft's whole body shuddered in disgust and anger and Lawson was taken aback by the amount of hate that appeared in them.

"You are one of them, aren't you?"

Lawson frowned but didn't say anything. He could see Bancroft was working himself up and that fit him just well.

"One of those bastards in Ballarat who helped take him down. What's your name... Blake? Or Lawson? I bet you're one of them... the cop?" Bancroft growled, then spat on the ground as if the mere mention of the names caused a bad taste in his mouth.

Lawson raised a brow.

"Yes, that is me. Excellent job. Now pray tell, who do you think I helped take down?"

Bancroft snorted in disbelief, waving his arm around.

"You're here. Don't tell me you haven't worked it out you bloody pig!"

Lawson growled and took a threatening step forward. This time Bancroft didn't step back though. He seemed to be on the roll.

"Watch your mouth. After all, aren't you one of _us_?"

Bancroft shook his head.

"I would never stoop down to your level. Causing the death of a good man!"

"Are you talking about William Munro perhaps? Your wife's brother?"

Bancroft's eyes flashed again.

"Leave my wife out this you bastard! You had already cost her too much. Do you even have an idea what it was for her to lose her only brother? Her only living relative? You made her a wreck!"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Lawson answered, trying to keep hold of his own anger. "I'm sorry for the loss your wife suffered, but that is hardly the excuse to try and get an innocent man killed in some twisted plot of revenge!"

"Innocent?" Bancroft sputtered. "I read the files! I know well enough it was Davis who helped to accost William!"

"Well, perhaps there was a valid reason for that?"

"You and your little friends took his job, tarnished his reputation and in the end cost his life!" Bancroft shouted in anger, spit flying from his mouth as he was waving his arm, jabbing an accusing finger into Lawson's chest. Lawson smacked the hand away, an equally cold and disgusted look crossing his face.

"First off, he managed all of that on his own, don't you think?" Before Bancroft had a chance to retort, Lawson continued. "And while I am no fan of the man... in the end, it was Munro who decided to take that bullet and make amends. The man might've been a stubborn fool, but he did the right thing. You are the only one tarnishing his name right now!"

Bancroft stared at him, seething but unable to find his words.

"Do you really think William would have thanked you for this? You're the type of scum he was trying to fight against. Do you think your _wife_ would want this?"

Bancroft jerked as if hit and there was a flash of fear in his eyes.

"Leave... leave her out of this," he said, but it was more of a pleading tone than a threat.

Lawson stared into his eyes, unblinking.

"Just like you left Davis out of this?" he asked coldly.

Bancroft swallowed.

"You can't prove it. You can't prove anything..." Bancroft said and suddenly he perked up, realizing he was right. "Kenneth's dead. You have no evidence, do you?" he shook his head, answering his own question. "No. I would've been locked up already if you had _anything_." A smug smirk appeared on his face.

Lawson growled, his hand reaching into his jacket, threateningly.

The smirk slipped from Bancroft's face in an instant, replaced by fear.

Lawson snorted, then pulled something bulky out from under his jacket.

Bancroft frowned.

It wasn't a gun.

No, it was something else. Something much more damning than a loaded gun could be.

"Is that..." Bancroft stuttered.

"Yeah. A tape recorder. Not that hard to get when you have friends in the right places," Lawson said, secretly thanking Rose for that brilliant idea. "Now that I have all of that on the tape... I think I will take my leave."

"What? No, you can't! That... that isn't admissible in court!" Bancroft hissed, trying to keep his voice down but at the same time desperate to shout. He grabbed for the recorder, but Lawson expected it and moved away. He tutted and put the recorder back into his pocket.

"Now now... do you think I am stupid?" He reached under his jacket once again, this time pulling out a gun.

Bancroft growled, but backed up quickly.

"Here's how this will go, Dennis. I'm going to walk away and return to Ballarat. You can go home to your lovely wife or go for a stiff drink, I bloody don't care. You are right in one thing. I can't very well use this recording at court..." Bancroft's shoulder sagged in apparent relief. Lawson didn't let him rest though. "But I bloody well can make sure it will get into the right hands if I decide so."

Bancroft once again stiffened, then came to a decision.

"What do you want?"

"Pardon me?" Lawson asked, appearing not to understand.

"What do you want... in exchange for the tape?" Bancroft let out through gritted teeth.

Lawson appeared to be thinking about it.

"Ah... what I want is for you to forget Charlie Davis ever existed. Actually... I want you to forget _Ballarat_ exists. And just a little warning... if anything would happen to someone I know..." Lawson patted his pocket with the recorder. "Well. We would find out just how much dirt my friends can pull up on you, won't we?"

Bancroft swallowed.

"Is... is that it? You... you just walk away and we forget all of this?" he didn't seem keen to believe it would be so easy. Lawson didn't want him to either. He shrugged.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Only time will tell."

With that he turned and swiftly stepped out into the street. It took Bancroft a second to get his head around it but then he followed, calling out after him.

"Wait! You can't just..." he stopped, unsure of what to say. He must've realized there were people around, looking at them. Curious neighbours.

Lawson smirked, tapping his pocket meaningfully.

"Have a good night, Mr. Bancroft," he said and without another backward glance walked away.

He flagged down the first cab he saw, heading for the airport. To hell with it. As soon as he sat in that plane, he would grab a glass of whiskey to calm his nerves. Once home, he knew just the person who would find good use for the tape. The noose was tightening. There was no way in hell Lawson would let someone like Bancroft off with a slap on the hand, not after he almost got his friend killed.

Charlie might've doubted his place in Ballarat. Matthew Lawson did not.

**THE END**


End file.
